a poem for hard times
In the middle of the night__grief arrives,
His bloody palm__on the hilt of a knife
and in the quiet hours__I am estranged
from the ones I love;__by His blade I’m changed.
Who I am is a mystery__that I cannot solve
(since I’ve never been__who I thought I was)
but the promise I’ve__always stood behind,
is to keep on going__even when I’m blind.
Well that’s a promise that__I may have to keep,
to go alone,__with eyes that cannot weep;
to fade away__in her memory,
to stumble on__alone but free.
There is nothing harder
than to be condemned
for a love that’s weaker
than it should have been. —
Well Lord, I have tried to harden__this wood to steel,
but the heartwood’s as rotten__as Our ideals.
Well it’ easy second-guessing__to myself,
easy to do nothing__put your hopes on the shelf,
but look where it’s going__and I’m sad to say
that if you don’t try,__you’ll regret it some day.
I made another promise__in my youth,
that I’d keep on going__that I’d fight for truth,
so today I’ll stand__and take charge of my doom,
I don’t want to fade__into the tomb —
I don’t want to fade,__so I’ll admit my wrongs,
they tell me that’s__what really makes you strong;
I’ll admit my wrongs__and live another day,
though my love lies hollow__just a room away.
