The Struggle

When the tools in my hands feel like fire and ice

And the pain in my hands make them feel like a rusted vice

When the thought of cold, damp air makes me want to stay in bed

And the pressure I put on myself fills my head

The tremor in my hand is worse with each move I make

The pain in my neck and shoulders is almost more than I can take

I've used all the tricks and trades up my sleeves

But it all never quite leaves

I struggle to sleep, struggle to wake

Though I say I'm just sore, make no mistake

It is like a fresh injury every single day

And I wish it would all just go away

So when I work up the courage to make it outside

Or pick up my tools and feel a little pride

Know this is no small thing

Creating with pain is excruciating

But I continue to scrape and saw and sand

Though I must sit and not stand

I continue for the love of the craft

One more idea. One more draft

The work I must put off for so long

Is the very thing that gives me strength to go on.

And as much as I don't want to say

I cannot ignore there will come a day

When I can no longer do these things I do

When my hands fail and I can't push through

Until then, I do all I can to manage the pain

I pray. I treat. I sleep. I start again