You can’t reach for anything new if your hands are still full of yesterday’s junk. ~ Louise Smith
There’s comfort even in misery.
When you’ve done it long enough,
it’s what you know, natural,
even when odious. Hope springs
and chiseling drops dig deeper, deeper,
trenching. Insanity demands
repetition of worn-out behaviors,
expecting this time, finally,
to get it right, to convince him,
to prove your worth.
Paradise strikes fear, unworthiness,
discomfort, so new, so different,
so unknown. Seeing Elysian fields
intrigues us, yet approaching them
means agitation, unrest, angst.
Worthy, worthy, worthy.
I hear the truth, dare to trust
it’s verity. Paradise distant
may be lovely, but only is mine
when I dare to drop comfort
for the anomaly of grace,