Hard Work

I preach the teachings of hard work

To take berserk passion and truly fashion it to positive spaces

But I don't hold these faces

For the graces I express come linguistically

Not physically

Which is strange since I have walked down that ally hundreds of times and found within rhymes grander then ever conceived

Perhaps, to become relieved of my wants is the only reason

But I find that to be treason from my idealized self

The one who can sit and grit past the rough stuff with tough demeanor

Ending up cleaner, more refined

Always well defined in his actions

I have fractions of this perfection. Or in fact I forgot the way to act as he

A higher self

Capital S who digests stress without a mess for all his movements bless

Sensing a thought wave that will save all who gave into the belief that the only relief in life is death

I want to give this loving breath to those with lungs held in.

I've seen myself begin to unravel the gravel covered wires that tires all fires of willpower.

And when this occurs my biology prefers to move towards the quintessential

But the scraping of scars feels like gaping the tar pits in my heart, stretching them to lengths that no strengths can start to heal

Aware these thoughts of loss are unreal, but how strong they feel rooted in their exuded expression

How to come to terms in the belief that my only relief may lay in depression?

This may take time before I dive into the compression of my love

But hopefully the forging of its gold will help me truly rise above