the wounded

whatever protects me from being seen protects me from seeing
so there is no protection at all in this place of hiding
I grope, half blind, through the world of the wounded
I fear my woundedness
but even more, I fear my blindness

once I walked too close to fire
and I was burned and scarred
and my skin became hard
and I refused to let the fire touch me again in the same way
little did I know that I had been ignited
and in time my fire from within
spread and grew to meet my hardened skin
heat and light, the essence of my essence
can only be contained for so long
so now, with every breath, I fan the fire
and every glance emits more light
and slowly scars melt down from the inside out

at one time my innocence was met with resistance
and I found the resistance to be my foe
and so I ran and ran but never got away
and as swift as I could run
my resistance met me like a wind in my face
growing ever stronger
and so I became a better runner
and the wind fanned my fire
and so my heat and fire grew
and my resistance became my strength

one day, quite innocently, I turned to run in the direction of the wind
to find my self almost weightless, stepping lightly

pure innocence can be blind and tender
‘till tempered with resistance
‘till resistance brings wisdom
and wisdom draws angels to the earth
and feet,
to the ground

©2006 chris spheeris