How can I rise above it all,
When all is what I know?
Its not a leap of faith–
Its not taking the plunge–
Its knowing that I’ll come out unscathed,
When my knowledge is expunged.
How can I steady at this height
When steady requires growth?
Its not a release of innocence–
Its not a destruction of youth–
Its acknowledging the resistance,
When I come across the truth.
How can I enjoy this air
When joy is more than breath?
Its not the inhale that scares–
Its not the expansion of lung–
It’s the exhale unprepared,
When, like an ornament, it’s hung.
How can I decide my fate
When decide is not a choice?
Its not the clarity of voice–
Its not a revelation of the heart–
It’s the moment in the vice,
When I stagger and wish to depart.
How can I hope for peace
When hope resembles a canvas blank?
Its not the volume of paint–
Its not the confidence of stroke–
Its painting the light of a saint,
When the brush feels like its broke.