(I’ve found another old poem.  This is really interesting.  Maybe 2016 is about rediscovery for me…)

Everything has been done before.
Everything.
Life, love, sex, depression, death,
Anger, reflection,
Knowledge, wisdom, and understanding.
Done.
The Sun has seen it all and heard enough stories.
I couldn’t surprise Him if I boasted I could grab the moon and take it anywhere I pleased.

I have the audacity to believe I can impress Him–
That I can gain the approval of someone I cannot look in the eye.
In search of a way to boldly go to someone who can humble me anytime He sees fit,
Especially when I know I deserve it
The notion, in itself, is arrogant and daunting.

Maybe I’ll write during the evening
When He calls it a night.
So I can concentrate without beng under His thumb.
He is always over my shoulder.
He calls it guidance
I try to embrace that definition.
But agitation arises like noon
Casting the longest shadow of inadequacy.

I want to sway a being that has planets following Him like small children.
Whose reach is measured in time.
And despite my confusion, I believe I can
Because He gave me the ability.

So when my story is complete
When the denoument is finished.
I will give it to the Sun to read.
I am sure He will add it to His prized collection.