This poem is dedicated to everyone who's ever struggled, who's ever had to learn things the hard way. it is for those who have tried to walk by faith when they could no longer remember where their faith came from, who are no longer young and beautiful, but have kept trying anyway .. Maybe that's all of us ..
No longer bright young things but old and dull
Toiling our weariness across the days
Numbed by long pain and whispers of defeat
Not unto us, Oh Lord, the brilliant blaze.
Not unto us the swift grab at the prize
Not unto us the battle laughter high;
But unto us the stark and dreadful will
And unto us the love that will not die.
Blessed are we whose eyes have seen the night
Drench its chill terror through our aching frame
Who have held on because we can’t let go
And seen the morning rise with distant flame.
Blessed are we who have not given up
But scrabbled handholds in the blistered rock
And wondered if “one more” would get us there
While scrambled thoughts whirled round us like a flock.
We shall not lead the charge nor flail our swords
Glinting with sunlight in our high salute
We falter far from any podium
And know our courage is not absolute.
And yet we know what no bright youngster knows
Have touched that tenderness that wracks the soul
From any cheaply bought or sloganed truth.
We know it is not needful to be whole.
We know we have small wisdom of our own
We know that we are broken, incomplete
We know our knowing is the least of it
And breathed that grace that lies beyond defeat.