The Turn

From pitch black to being the pitch in battle From self-destruction to self-love A touch of faith yesterday planted the seed He heard my cry from the heavens above Today feels better because of the turn Back in the race with handy upgrades I needed dead-head pruning like rose bush No victory exists without the blood of crusades I bow my head in cold-headed affirmation My smile turns inwards like an invisible humble ray I had to stir my pot of faith to be granted this great day My wounds heal as my dark past buries like Pompei