Endurance

Oscar Wilde once said “All bad poetry springs from genuine feeling.” That brings a smile to my face. I like that.

I rarely write poetry. I’ve heard it said that prose writers make terrible poets. My attempts at poetry, which are a prose + poetry hybrid I calI prosetry, are no exception. When I write things I am often attempting to process them. Recently I was thinking about spiritual discipline. How do I remain aware of God and focus on things that have eternal value? Why does it feel so draining at times? I can force myself to do things, but I want more than that; I want to act out of a genuine motivation. Anyway, here is what I wrote:

Resolve seeks a holiday
Denied by the will
The mind embraces
That which the heart cannot
 
Victory is elusive
Waves upon sand
Here and gone
Wait for the tide
 
Fear not the pain
Rather its absence
To be numb
Is to surrender
 
Fatigue slips in
Excuse to fail
Resentment follows
I’m only human
 
With each new dawn
Hope awakens
Is she cruel? Heartless?
Or maybe she understands grace?
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