How I long to hold strong and persevere
through life's great and small troubles
and disturbances. I wish I had such strength—
courage of a warrior. But I think even the bravest,
most fierce and gallant warriors, must have at some
time stumbled or faltered from the weight of their armor.
Bore the wounds and scars from so many battles waged,
fought, won and lost, on the fields of conflict.
Who am I to imagine such courage—I who have fled
screaming in fear at even the thought of harm or loss?
I pray for such courage, for at least the courage to
keep moving in the face of life's struggles and combats.
To stay on the field until the last arrow flies and the last
shield falls to the ground. To stand even to the end of things.
Few I believe, are blessed with such bravery, such valor,
of mind, heart and spirit. And yet history tells of them,
and the tombs are filled with the bones of their memories.
Perhaps I must be content with persevering with the
measure of courage and bravery which has been given me.
And a part of me wonders, if real courage is that which
remains on the field of conflict in spite of its limitations,
doubts, fears, until the last arrow flies, and the shield
falls to the ground.
