Tuesday, May 13, 2008


I treasure qualities the world tells me to throw aside in favor of self preservation.  I honor covenants and am scorned by friends.  I labor for the preservation of an idea that countless voices call destitute and faded beyond worthiness.  

Work until the time and the date escape me.  Run until the air is too heavy to breathe.  Grind myself to a powder.  

For a cause.  

For the honor of steering a sinking ship.  Of being a sinking ship.  

For a dream that in the future, when all is well, a child will rise up and call my name blessed.  

And wondering if without reward I'll say the journey was worth the freight.  If somehow I make land, and the shore is barren, my smile, satisfied for having navigated the straights, will silence those who mock.  Will silence my ridiculing self.  Even if.  Even if not.  

On one hand, I cannot be other than I am.  The other: Nothing is inevitable.  Not even me.  Is that hope?


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