What have I sold myself to, Lord?
What have I sold myself to, Lord?
To naysayers, those dreaded dreamslayers
Against whom we have no chance of a prayer?

Have I willingly
clipped off my own wings?
Were those turgid wings meant
To be like those of drones?
Were I meant to be born again,
Born again into a world of slavery?
Have I misunderstood
What life really is
Or have I stood up
Stood up for something stronger
Stronger than a stale tale?

And if we Your children are like arrows
In the hands of a sharp archer
Why then do we still quiver
In our safe little quiver?

"Is it not time that, in loving,
we freed ourselves from the loved one, and, quivering, endured:
as the arrow endures the string to become,
in the gathering out-leap,
something more than itself? For staying is nowhere"
- Rainer Maria Rilke-The First Elegy -

*pause*

"Unless
a kernel

of wheat


falls



to




the





ground and
dies,

it remains only a seed."