Tigers

The Tigers come with our many fears
Lashed upon their coat of gold and black;
Under the fire breath of the sun
Tearing across the sky.
We come up for air,
And search for a stillness we have not found
Amidst a circling world
of fading figures that move and sway,
And others who rush forward with Time.
We swim in a sea of waves that crash,
Against skin sullied by piles of sins
Collected throughout a life made,
Like books that tower In a dusty room;
Used but abandoned by conscience's crusade.
Skeletons of the past return and repeat
With the animal Impulses we could not evade.
So we pack our bags yet again,
For the perennial journey that must begin
with a slow step that predates the crawl
Of lost days we cannot reclaim.
We cannot rewrite the pages turned
But choice commands us to redeem
That fall from grace to Triumphant dreams.
There is no battle that ends in defeat,
When we condemn the urge to retreat
Or resign our pride and valor
To the trenches of doubt and fear.
Head unbowed we must charge on,
And build a life to call our own.