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

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