God did not give you
a sword to chip at
or a shield
to bury yourself in comfort.
You are a man
with fire in your blood
What you touch turns to purpose
You are composed of Divine scaffolding
A rose blooming through snowfall.
Nothing kills me more,
to see a young face,
aged with the wrinkles of apathy
Take what numbs you and bury
your sword into it
Take what seeks to cling to you
and deflect it with your shield.