Sunday, March 22, 2015


My eyes open, I stride, beat in hand,
desperate, afraid, but ever unbroken.
No cost, no sin, will hold sway my fate,
for with pain there is privilege,
with love enough its never too late.

And how strongly I yearn myself free,
feeling crushed, treated wrongly,
by the unprepared, rushed, intensity
of my own midnight thoughts.

Confounded, hurt, by these limitations,
my reason strains to understand.
As if a child, reprimanded, grounded,
running from emotions, shameful to hold...
pushed out, unable to stay, forced to go.

For these questions, riddles from God,
cannot be answered by currency.
Swallowed, pleasured, however indecently.
They remain; prophetic words, asking me,
 who I am and what it means...
to be hungry.


  1. The intensity of the words, the immediacy of the tone make me a bit afraid to ask the speak just exactly what s/he is hungry for...

  2. That last line is especially powerful.

  3. Hey Michael--many answers cannot be answered by currency--what it means to be hungry--now, that may or may not be one of those--but there are so many kinds of hunger--anyway, all interesting and probing. Thanks. I love your own trees there to the side. K. (Manicddaily on wordpress.) k .

  4. I thought the same as Outlawyer, What kind of hungry? There are so many.

    Strong, well said.

  5. The second stanza really caught me and by the time I reached the end I was very intrigued. Beautifully done.

  6. "Who I am and what it be hungry."
    The Irish curse ;)

  7. "Who I am and what it be hungry."
    The Irish curse ;)

  8. So often the riddles are never answered...

  9. Midnight thoughts are perplexing... leaving a hunger for questions to be answered. Thus is the riddle of lifes journey at times.