Follies Forgotten

 

From the pocket of my jeans
I take the bunch of keys
Fumbling bundle of responsibilities
That are carried with me everywhere

The discomfort of them
Prodding my flesh
The clumsy weight of them
Too many of them

And I thrust them
To the bottom of my backpack
And throw it to the bottom
Of the wardrobe

Free now for the quiet
Of this strange bleak place
Drab and most dreary of days

But free nonetheless

For brotherhood
And solitude with the One
And only necessary Good

For whom
Through whom
From whom

All else flows
And all my follies forgotten