My Feet

I can neither feel my feet—nor see the ground below,
I walk precariously on a line I do not know.
And I’m afraid to show—bare my empty hands,
To a creation of catered determinates.
I cannot feel my feet! And I fear, and grovel,
Of the fantastic and utter messes I have constructed.
I bumble and fumble furtively, grasping
And denying finality and closing. The
Ground below slips and saunters, and I do
Not think to sit, my feet evade me as I
March, my feet betray me, with bravery sought.
I cannot sense the ground below my character,
How could I create a more clouded world?
I cannot feel my feet… But I seek, I
Have sought and searched, Besought
And lurched—I have unearthed an undetermined
Expedition on unexploited reasoning—
To my utter and complete frustration…
But the ground slides and shuffles in a
Simple but sleight handed fashion,
I have lost elegance to alluring augmentation,
And become perturbed by reminiscent
And pondering passion.
I cannot feel my feet, and I cannot walk straight,
I can neither follow the path I have sought,
Nor dare to walk along wakeful tracks.

DannYetman

www.yetmanpoetry.blogspot,com