I'm Trying

I'm Trying

(“So, chosen by God for this new life of love, dress in the wardrobe God picked out for you: compassion, kindness, humility, quiet strength, discipline.” Colossians 3:12)

For, though they seemed hidden, every goal slow to appear
still tugged my tired ambitions along; when I wished they
would dematerialize (you realize, without their existence
I could plead my lack of resistance) they reappear every
night I think the sun has laid its head for the final time
upon the ocean's horizon.

I have become the enemy I distaste, the one who thinks
he follows as well as the rest,
all the while disguising his limp,
or using it as a lesson holy perseverance
for the better bodied.

I weep when I would joy, I stand still for hours
after
the starting pistol has discharged its empty cartridge.
I sleep, not well. I wake with eyes undecided;
|swelled due to pain or dreams I cried in.

I see the mountain, love the alpine air,
happy the crunch of untouched sheets of snow.
I carry the sun life upon my forehead,
it lifts me well to the spearheaded trail
and the peak I've preached and stumbled.

Young, I danced at the chances, and pain was
muscles learning their strength.
Now, the feet tap slightly, and every ache
a reason to stay inside and lock the doors.

It is not what I asked for, nor foreordained,
but, unexplained I've run out of wishes,
and cry that all my trying leaves me waiting
for some Samaritan's donkey to take me the rest of the way.