Chalice
It is fear that spurs us.
We carry it in a heedless gallop,
all the while shunning
the transformative power of pain.
Our comforts are death,
lulling the mind beyond awakening.
Struggles define us,
and without definition
we are formless,
or meaningless,
as you prefer.
Life is a full chalice.
Oft sweet,
oft sour,
and sometimes poisoned.
There is naught to do
but raise that cup to lips and,
boldly or trembling,
drink.
We carry it in a heedless gallop,
all the while shunning
the transformative power of pain.
Our comforts are death,
lulling the mind beyond awakening.
Struggles define us,
and without definition
we are formless,
or meaningless,
as you prefer.
Life is a full chalice.
Oft sweet,
oft sour,
and sometimes poisoned.
There is naught to do
but raise that cup to lips and,
boldly or trembling,
drink.