On Discipline

[iwrite007]

Is Discipline a cup
from which I may drink

or a table to feast from

so that I may never hunger

or thirst again for foolishness?

By what form

is it made available to man?

Oh, how I wish it were as the air

so that I may inhale it

and it sustain me.

As of now

I am no more than a beggar

blinded by my own ignorance

and clothed in garments marred

with the stench of iniquity.

I stumble through the streets,

unknowingly marching further

and further from myself.

I call out for help,

I call out for Discipline

yet my voice is a dying echo.

I pray my calls are answered

or that I might, by chance,

stumble upon Discipline’s doorstep

wherein I may be granted access 
into its home.

I could then walk

the straight corridors

of its dwelling

where opportunity

is behind every door

and the temptations of the flesh

are unwelcomed guests.