June 11



Being constantly defeated by greater beings,
Beaten by the storms of life until the lessons of all ages have been heard.
As the winds of change howl their coarse and painful words,
The run away reflex fires it’s starting pistol to challenge my resolve.

To stay is to grow, I know, to run is to hide, I know.
Let life beat it’s hearty rhythm on the skin of my back,
Until I bleed from the claws of the wise ones.
From these tender wounds may come the scar tissues of the man I need to be.

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