Illness lands fast
Successive blows like boxers’ gloves
Looking for the last
But the true damage is past:
I’m steady now.
I kept spinning twirls
For my last sensei
Fearful and unfurled
In the murky depths
But it’s a solid world:
I’m standing planted
I’m grateful for these bouts
Pain and exhaustion wracking me
Weakening me, starving my doubts,
Stripping my abilities,
Until I am left without:
Sore, but light on my feet.
My fragile shell breaks down
Unknown, in silence and seclusion,
Draining away the ounce
In which the multitude imbibes,
And in their drunkenness, drowns:
That space in front of our hands.
Even so, I caused neither illness, nor ground,
Reduced instead to essential being
The innate truth of His strength resounds
Here, in my broken uselessness,
My eternal worth is found.