From dramatic, face contorting,
out of your mind, torment...
To the mundane, can not TAKE this anymore,
everyday bleakness;
comes a ferocious word called:
TOIL.
Must it be my constant companion?
It follows like a shadow of death,
In the valleys of life,
And the peaks of mountains.
Even in the sweat soaked throngs of victory over summits,
Toil is lingering, not far behind.
Even when I am content or even ecstatic,
I can see it watching me from the sidelines.
Waiting for weakness.
Am I not supposed to be comfortable and content?
Euphoric and plump?
Painful toil will be with us all the days of our lives.
We are the descendants of the first Adam.
Ask him of toil.
Ask him of torment, bleakness, euphoria and loneliness.
Ask Adam of separation.
I accept my challenge of toil and hope,
Flesh and spirit,
Cautiously leaning on the promises.
