Floundering

Some days I flounder for virtue,
my ego promenading past the faults of others,
my head held higher than it usually does.

On days when pride will not vanish
and I quake with anger
at some blemished mark on the face of injustice,

shave the heat of embarrassment from my cheeks
so that I won't let tears fall
or need to malinger over nothing.

Let the tangled mutation of the soul of another
heal me with kindness.

Let me not sink into the darkness
where all who suffer
lose their way
over and over again.

Mercy looks like my sister
when I can trace that profile
with my blistered fingers
at the closing of all time.