Is not the deep, dark rest a better plea,
When every single waking breath is war?
What am I fighting for, and what’s in store
But the same old tide that washes over me?
I searched the sunrise for a silver coin,
A simple piece of joy I could rejoin,
But found the coffer empty, shut, and cold,
The story of my striving left untold.
They promise gain, a comfort to be won,
If I just keep my shoulder to the stone.
But I have carried burdens all alone
From the first shadow cast beneath the sun.
I’ve seen no profit, felt no easing touch,
Just giving everything and getting much
Less than the peace the simple stones enjoy,
A hollow effort that I can’t employ.
Look on the record, read the final count,
There is no happiness beneath this sky.
The truth is written in the tear-wet eye,
The only offering from a spent account.
Every hard-won moment just a trade
For a new hurt, a deeper struggle made,
The only harvest that my hands can claim
Is the slow, bitter knowledge of the flame.
I tell you plainly, I can take no more.
The line is drawn, the final cord is cut.
My stubborn spirit, now locked in a rut,
Cannot hold past the breaking of the core.
This weight is not a thing you lift and clear,
It is the atmosphere of sorrow here.
The mind gives way, the tired will descends,
And all the forced endurance finally ends.
The anchors slip, the vessel has no guide,
The heart’s great drum beat only low and faint.
I won’t pretend, nor make myself a saint,
I only know I can no longer hide.
I am too fractured to be fixed again,
Too soaked in the relentless, icy rain,
The scaffolding of hope has bowed and split,
And I am done with all the grit and wit.
So let this truth be clear when I am gone,
My failing was not weakness of the soul.
I did not stumble short of any goal,
But fell beneath the weight of every dawn.
It was not sickness, foe, or sudden blast,
Life Itself came for me, and overcame at last.
The battle’s over. Hear the final word,
I lay my weary head down, like a bird.
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