Battleground

I fight without strength in my soul,

moral battle between right and wrong,

tired illusions forming incoherent haze,

bitter dance in stockpile of evil and good.

I step into corners of the ring as

battle rages and I join the fight.

I step back with the striking thought

that I dwell somewhere in virgin field

between right and wrong with

shadings all crooked – can’t you see

the person I’ve always wanted to be?

I don’t want to search for the right words

for its wrong to think ideals are incorrect.

Falsehoods may have some truth hidden

by obscure light fading away out of view.

I’m caught in the middle of yesterday

with right thoughts without reason –numb

as I wait for the time to be right before

the glow is gone from the desiccated corpse

as the kernel of right shifts out of my view.