Spiced Pains
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I believe there is such a thing as a spiced pain--the spice being the promise of victory just ahead of present discomforts. This poem addresses itself to that idea.
The rock that to the climber reaches out with
jagged arms
And to the sore foot of a traveler turns a tough
rough back
Holds within its harshness
The promise of swift marches
To they who aspire towards its summit.
And to each of them it someday proves
That in the roughness of the way lies the
smoothness of the journey—
For only amid coarseness can footholds form
And only to jagged rock can a grip bond fast.
It‘s the same with the affairs of men:
They who walk us on oiled paths,
Who smooth the way to soothe our soles,
Soon see their care turn to a scare
When upon its glossy form no crack is revealed
where seeds of hope may lodge
Nor any gaping holes seen through which golden
beams may slip and light the darkness ahead.
For fortune draws her breath through cracks
That make coarse the route
That to success leads—
Cracks that soothe our soles with spiced pains,
The pains that herald victory
Which barren comforts bear not.
Copyright © Agona Apell | Year Posted 2016
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