My fallability has tripped me up
Again. I've fallen on the gravelly ground
Of imperfection. I would like to cut
This nonsense out, but no; my flaws have found
A way to find me even when I seem
To have evaded them successfully.
They just show up. They are a well trained team-
And venerable. Yes, some have been with me
So long, I look at them with a strange mix
Of loathing, dread, familiarity.
Of course I have some antidotal tricks
And textual guides. Spirituality
Assists. Self-admonition, too.
Regret. I sigh. But still: what's one to do?
***
Copyright Hans Ostrom 2009
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem