This Crown of Thorns
We wear it like a scar
often hidden from public view
as though a mark of shame.
We wear it with a stoic smile
we hardly feel our own, for even
a simple smile requires effort.
It erodes our countenance
like the rush of scouring waters
on a hillside; it claws
at our peace of mind until it
tears the skin of our patience
and draws blood from our despair.
It is, for reasons that still elude us,
the co-conspirator with the night, asserting
its presence with greater insistence.
It turns each day into an
unwanted journey rather than
a pleasant walk.
It is warfare for which
we have no protective armor,
no defenses, no allies, except endurance.
It is an endless encounter
bravely fought, rarely won,
never conquered. It is that unwon,
unwanted heroism we grudgingly
condescend to wear – more
a crown of thorns than laurel.
Copyright © Maurice Rigoler | Year Posted 2024
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