Yield

The words which express our faith and piety are not definite; yet they are significant and fragrant like frankincense to superior natures. - Thoreau

Clutching a double-edged blade.

Thinking I have it made.

The fight is profound.

On this most hallowed ground.

My forgiveness at war.

Like a revolving door.

Never quite knowing what's in store.

In the basement of my broken heart.

Screaming beatitudes as I try to play the part.

Just another false start.

Life's rain seeps in, dampening my soul.

Obfuscating a meaningful goal.

Get me out of this entangled mess.

Please.

I beg and confess.

Under a blitzkrieg of supercharged stress.

My insides torn.

Weary and worn.

My essence attacked.

Drilled and fracked.

My walls torn down.

By a vindictive verb, not a proper noun.

Flanks exposed.

Anchor accused and deposed.

Wanting nothing more than to charge out over the field with emotion.

Carrying the flag of deep devotion.

Paralyzed with stage fright.

The armor uncomfortable and tight.

Where's my sword Father?

My helmet and shield?

As I strike a blow for truth concealed.

Desiring to fight the good fight.

Half wrong or half right.

Ever unwilling to yield ...

Author's Note

"The coward wants resolution, which the brave man can do without. He recognizes no faith above a creed, thinking this straw by which he is moored does him good service, because his sheet anchor does not drag." - Thoreau

Reviews

[jacob erin-cilberto]

i think sometimes the brave man also wants resolution in a peaceful manner....
i really like your poem...you writing is often filled with angst, but always with a real charge of electricity and raw emoting...
and most of us find ourselves in a supercharged mess quite often....and one way to cope is to write our way out of it.
j.

[Pete]

even early, primitive man wrote and drew upon cave walls. what lies within us looks for a way out. thank you j. ... :)