Here, the light exposes me,
as black as the pit is my soul.
And no matter how odd it may be
I am an inconsolable Pole.
If I fell clutching my circumstance
or should yell “For crying out loud!”,
These blues are showing my last chance
my head is ruddy now and bowed.
There is no place for wrath filled tears
or for fears of shady horrors,
It seems my penance is quite clear,
my judge and jury feed my sorrows.
And so, I stand behind this gate,
charged with believing in truths untold.
Here, where convicted is my fate:
Things are out of my control.
© Walter J Wojtanik – 2021
**A reworking of “Invictus” by William Ernest Henley