Breathing Room Poem by Scott J. Shepard

Timid of the reasoned world;
grounded in clay fact,
hurried on with the thought of principle;
brought into, raised up,
grown to chaos
and vested in role-

at first, misunderstanding my own;
each mistake counted is placed underneath
the heavy hand of obedience.

Life's lessons embrace doctrine
worn like a glove and mallet for phrase,
with each stone, an aphorism,
till congregated truths reveal their inner working.

As pragmatism had shifted clay and
the world had slowed, progress turned
from mountain top to pebble in hand.

Realism, another subatomic fault
to where light cannot pass through,

I chew my way through the dust.