Works to Grace

Illness lands fast
Successive blows like boxers’ gloves
Looking for the last
Unconquered territory
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.

About viewingcamelot

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