Not Much

God, help me be content with who you have created me to be.

Sometimes, this uphill climb doesn't seem very worth it. But we press on, stumbling, yet not falling down.

--- Later ---

Apparently, it's frustration that awakes my inner poet.

What It Is

This is the epic battle; this, the skeleton key
That opens, opens all the locks in me.
Besieged is this small fortress! Oh God, it cannot stand!
It bends, it bends its face over the land!
Fears pierce my palm, but I won't ope my hand.

This is the screaming geyser; this also, dying sound
That tumbles, tumbles into maw of ground.
How violent, my heart's landscape! Oh God, I strain to kill
The phantoms, phantoms fleshed by my weak will!
I wildly slash them, but they re-form still.

Take the poison thorn from me!
Bitterness left's a small price for being free.