If I scar this sheet that wraps my bones, this pale coat of skin
Will it muffle dim the fleeting hopes that simmer deep within?
Will it tear in two, or even more, this contract bound by sin?
Or will it prove my languishing is nothing more than spin?

Does a path appear to those who see in black and white and gray?
Or is this course beholden to the blind who sweep away
The past that often burdens us, and tempts us to the fray
Of tragic truth unbound by lies emboldened more each day?

Where do we find the strength to last through storms of discontent?
When forces mighty swipe at us, allowing sweet ferment.
When confronted with the countless ways in which we must repent
Do we fall to scarred and bloodied knees and weep with great lament?

Or do we find in future’s grasp a beacon from our past?
A moment captured, wrapped in hope, deformed in heavy cast
And held up as salvation in honor of dreams vast,
To spirit soul’s meandering unto its last repast.