Cuts like a knife
Failure is a razor sharp edge.
Pierces the heart like an arrow.
Cuts deep into the cartilage,
And does separate the marrow.
Fault is prison without escape.
Lacking that someone else to blame.
Tips a scale and records on tape.
Weighs me wanting, snuffs out a flame.
Leaves me alone again at night
Facing the bite of cold steel rain.
Like sleeping under a flood light.
To awaken to much the same.
A time of testing will beclown.
Turns a straight path into an arc.
Pivots to an orbit around,
That moment of missing the mark.
An introspection blade quickens.
Showing a purpose to this pain.
Exposes motives once hidden,
Different from those I proclaim.
Cutting still deeper these gloved hands
Show me what I refuse to see.
That I prefer creating fans
of me and not so much of Thee.
Personal success is legit.
But recall this marrow we share
Conflicts with truth we must admit.
It comes from ancient ilk, beware.
Copyright © John Grindle | Year Posted 2021
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
to post a comment