Wounded Mortality
Photograph by: K. Alan Lewis
Men walk proudly upon this earth
Some appear like gods to smaller men.
Confidence cloaks something deeper still
Not seen at all upon their faces of pretense.
In the quiet of each solitary house
A dimly burning candle guides one deep within.
There one finds a wound so deep
All men cry out, though few admit.
Wounded mortality is the gift to all -
Therein one must find a lonely path:
A path that leads to many roads
The choice is not a gamble, but…a thought.
~Viola M. Jaynes
