who am i

Who am I
to stand up here
asking forbearance
and forgiveness
from you?

Whose feet are these
that dare to stand
upon the wooden boards?

Nay, could not be
a poet suppose I myself?

Not so brave I.

But neither so humble.

With bravado and grape
this plunge I did take
for in me lurks
someone quite timid
turn right take a left
you will soon see my limit.

Better to talk
to speak my song.

But wait
could what I tell you
perhaps be wrong?

Behind this fabric
does the face conspire?

Is that myself
I see on the spire
raised high, aloft
for all to see?

Yet crucifixion was
never for me.

Do I with you
or you like I
betray ourselves
every day with a lie?

Have you shut and bolted
and bolted again
the door to your soul
that would let...
you know what in?

Have you heard
been disturbed
by that scratching sound
wearing down the door
that will surely fall down?

Oh, not I to stand
in the light,
oh, not I
to open to the night.

We feel, I know
for you are like I,
the beast that lurks
just outside our eye.

Let me in, let me in
the scratching implores.

With screams we answer
go away from my door.

My life is good
my life is fine.

Besides all that
I don't have the time.

And I here I am
In front of you
using rhyme
albeit badly,
to obscure the view
of who we are
and what we've become.

My paucity of soul
overwhelms this one
for lurking there
with strength undone
outside my door
lies the beast.

And it weeps.