A broken woven path we weave,
Of dusted cobbler stone so broken.
Dents and cracks far and wide,
Snaking up this mountainside
To which I fight to rise above
And only bound of tumbling back.
Scrape my knees as I fall again,
Curse ever more of this hazing shame,
Pound my fist into a road so beaten,
An endless battle I shall not win.
With little strength I lift my head,
And utter a cry of savage frustration.
To my response came a flutter,
Light whispers of murmured salvation.
�Alas in your woe-some hour,
Alas in your darkest moment,
Reach up, your arm of faded strength
And I shall help carry you on.�
With no thought to waste,
A hand reached out for saving grace.
A moment of nothing filled my lungs
Then failed strength renewed once more.
Weakened knees lifted me up
And now I stood on my own two legs.
Forward I marched with vigorous fury,
Cross gapping chasms of fine-tuned failure.
With this strength so filling,
I bound great oceans of utter shame,
Slip soundly past sleeping lions,
And crest my mountainside.
With trembling hands of blissful glee
I grasped that door to my redemption,
To which it opened to a picture so new.
At my back came a flutter of a muted whisper
Whom spoke of a gentle promise:
�If you stumble back to the floor,
Alas fear nothing
I shall come back again.
Lift up your hand of fading strength
And I shall grasp it,
And carry you on.�
