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April 30, 2001

 

Everything I Do

 

every thing I do

every chance I take

every word I speak

 

falls

       useless

               upon

                       the

                               ground

 

lying there spent and unused

not a thing I have done

these fourteen months past

has been of value

all attempts at holy work

dead ended before a chance

of properly beginning

scorned and despised upon

this same ground

upon which I fall to weep

 

Oh God!

What do I do

that this curse remains?

 


Everything I Do
A poem by Peter Rhebergen

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