Just stay the course, we chant to ourselves,
keeping pace on our journey begun so long ago.
To walk the path to certain damnation,
for twenty-two, too short, long years,
requires courage untold.
To ignore the gratuitous din,
the tempting promise of friendship,
looking beyond Man’s empty adulation
to accept one’s true fate:
to be unrecognized as being worthy.
Which is the more justified for emulation and reward?
To be sure of one’s soul, as a child of God;
or to have only one’s faith that this is so?
Emotions rage: fear and fortitude,
plod along, side by side
as we stay the course and hope for the best.
Seven days, the journey from Palm Sunday to resurrection,
trumps seventeen years of painful contemplation
sitting on a therapist’s couch; hoping for rebirth.
To know oneself is a much sought-after prize,
yet to do great things, in making one’s mark,
requires this faith even at the start.
Faith and courage, the two sides of one’s coins
that are flipped in the hope of gaining the greatest spoils.
Either, a sure winner, unless our coin rolls like dice.
And we, prudently, snatch death from the jaws of life,
because we love our brothers and sisters,
and exercise sage temperance in managing our emotions.
So, yes, we’ve stayed the course, the long, rugged, course,
and felt the quiet joy at being one with God.
This does not last long, however, for
our trials return, and we must remind ourselves
that it is always Thy, not My, will be done in this world.
All life is cyclic, we think, tomorrow may be better…
In reality, alone, my hand passes over the bottle of pills, and the shiny razor blade on the mantle as I reach for my phone, to call a friend. We need to talk…