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.
Copyright ©
Silent One
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