Sometimes
You pick the sinking ship
Recognizing within
Carousel parts of
Your own visit on earth
There is much wrong
In repeating mistakes or
Returning to well worn habit
When outcomes have proven they are
Dead roads and broken boats
It is not that you are
A martyr
Or even a fool
You do not wish
To bring yourself lower
But if you imagine life
As a well worn stoop
And whom you should feel
Most comfortable sitting there with
Then you will fathom
The type who finds themselves
Supporting the broken-down and
The fractured
For the sheer honesty of their response
And that well earned familiar
That you have known over and over
In the apologetic eyes of your own
And that trembling hand teaching through time
Asking you to
Be patient with my mistakes
There is something
Comforting and real
In a flaw
When all the city lights try to attain pearly perfection
Something you’ve never related to
Another language for
Early risers without grime stains behind their ears
The kinds who are punctual and routine
And do not make shoddy excuses for
Why they cannot lift the weight of the world
From their shoulders
People who may
Go on to take office whilst you seek
To survive and advance by understanding
What keeps the world turning
Which
Can be discovered
In equal amount
From the hands of the lost
As those who are found
What you don’t know, can’t know, won’t know