Devotions

 

I wondered about my

devotions this morning on my drive to work,

what cause am I willing to put

my life on the line for,

what hill is my grave?

 

I couldn’t think of any.

Nothing good anyway.

It all sounded so bad to me.

So depressing. So empty,

a vacuum of joylessness.

 

Love? Meh.  I’ve been hurt too often.

Family? Not really a “cause”.

Morality? So Subjective.

Religion? Not a chance.

Poetry? It isn’t as real as I would like.

 

Our selected devotions,

the hills on which we die

are all inside our heads,

formless, yet obtuse,

ridged, but insufficiently carved.

 

I am devoted to sitting,

begging for sensual attention,

being awkward,

putting my needs before the needs of

others.

 

I am devoted to selfishness,

only doing what I want,

yet peaceably existing to the best

of my limited capabilities without

ruffling too many feathers.  

 

However, I crave devotion from others;

a devotion of attraction, of love, of encouragement,

of adoration both near and far, and the incorrigible

need to be happy with what I am without

judgment.

 

I am apparently devoted to being human.

With all its flaws. With all my flaws.

With flaws. I’m devoted to learning

how to be devoted to someone else.

And questioning my devotions less as I drive to work.