Trials of my heart - Mixed

2: If you are irritated by every rub, how will your mirror be polished? Rumi In realms of illusion, pain is a sharp reminder of reality. I've been polishing since the day I was born, reluctant to resemble the 'Tin man,' as there is no one to guide me away from a path of affliction, but I know in each test, there is a lesson. Burdens of life, place pressure upon my heart. Sometimes, I'm afraid it may burst, yet, I suppress the sorrows, worried that people may see me as weak. Is there a metaphor for the crimson tears, which flow through my blood vessels? Each palpitation is reminiscent of suffering, so it feels like a rock is banging against my chest, but I keep rubbing it rapidly, hoping it will reflect like a ruby. In my anthology of adversity, I've become tired from the pollution I breathe, afraid toxic tumours, which once consumed my existence, may return to contaminate the oxygen I desire. Yet, I keep searching and fighting, before they place me in a wooden box. Listening to the messages tribulations bring, hoping my eagle spirit overcomes each storm. From the strength of healing, soothed from the moral of each trial, I'm content, knowing, I am stronger. I know one day in my final defeat, I will lay down my sword and shield. Unable to soar, forever silent - I keep faith that God will call me home.