awake

How cruel a God there'd have to be

to pen a bleak soliloquy

and damn us to recite that Play

a Grim, eternal matinee .

How could refinement be our Plot

and tragic woes our lasting lot ?

Is Life a ruse with fixèd score

with scandal scarred in every pore ?

No! Self is both prepared and primed

for crucibles divinely timed .

No matter how in heartsong wrenched

or bitterness deeply entrenched .

Released from All that makes us whole

and breaks the Heart and blesses Soul .

The Here and Now our only claim .

We take no credit ; heed no blame .

History then a mere mnemonic !

with Grace , the dirge now sung euphonic .

The actor , trusted to adapt .

So audience : observe, enrapt .

Were you to look upon our skin

You'd read our stories just within :

A face re-shaped by streams of mirth ,

A canyon razed and filled since birth ;

A mountain climbed, a valley tumbled ,

Both ankle rolled and ego crumbled ;

Yellowed map of past and future ,

Dimpled bites of stitch and suture ;

Wrinkled light yet deeply scarred ,

a topographic calling card .

Of where we've been, with whom, and when

The trails we're wont to tread again .

But will that story be the Truth ?

Both amplified and dulled by Youth ?

I sense attachment to our story

will leave us unconvinced of Glory .

The purpose then of growing pains ?

Perhaps to redirect the lens .

So scheme the blade: intent, traumatic .

Dream the scalpel: skilled, dramatic .

Carve the throat to sing without

the din of Praise, the still of Doubt .

Our faiths and follies fade precise .

Neither virtue, neither vice

remain within the melody :

Awake, our sole Identity .