Diminished is My Way

I could exhaust many a thing

the stinging, pelts of rain

the ferreted holes to the world below

strident waters, black and deeper than thought

matter deliberately flung to the ground

yet, cannot be sought.

Diminished is my way when I am not free to walk.

In transient, stillness down a one way path, I find myself unable to look back.

I could exhaust many a thing

never to repeat all that is scattered behind me.