To My Skeptic 30-Year-Old Self

when you reach the wondrous year of 2035

you will chuckle and chortle more often than you cry

bitterness will be exchanged

for peace that cannot be rearranged

by change, challenge, or circumstance

having mastered the delicate dance

of under pressure maintaining grace

and securing silence as your sacred space

reviewing the promises of the Beatitudes

your newly grasped name will be gratitude

when met with trial and tribulation

depart you will on a prayerful vacation

having pulled the voluminous victory valance

meditation will rightfully restore balance

then after, back to reality shall you snap

assured that this is merely a feather in your cap

the cap of courage, compassion, and confidence

you no longer hold to chance and coincidence

your daring destiny claimed as once foretold

branded beautiful—brave—brilliant—bold

to joyously persevere through pain and strife

That is the high calling on your life

and with each battle won—each passed test

know, sometimes peace wins the war, and even the radical find rest

relax, Beloved, for when you reach your fifty mark

the matches you strike now will have just begun to spark