taking another ounce

sweet precious ounce

one more drop of strength

my knees begin to give way

buckled as strength 

runs for the exits…

whispering another prayer

beneath my breath 

as the din of sorrow weigh 

elephant heavy upon me. 

Some good men stand for moments

others for countless years 

all depending on a strength they neither

posses or pretended to from the start. 

Every fragment of life, a gift 

sometimes left hidden and unopened 

under the tree, with crimson bow 

still attached like drops of blood

from the cross so long ago.  

What is it that I comprehend, if not 

for His suffering and life giving? 

Can the temporal glimpse 

eternal…just slivers of hope, 

a fraction of glory? 

I stand here, battered

fight weary, arms like rubber

feet like concrete…yet we are

far from finished.