It is now as it was then, was then
as it is now. Though I feel small, unworthy,
weary from my journey through time
and this strange solace, this life of mine,

Still there is but one thing true , tried
through and through. It is not a mighty strength,
for though hers has held me and kept me and,
while I may at times carry her sword of truth,

Planted in my heart, its comfort slipped from me
long ago. Or perhaps I fell beneath its weight.
Maybe it is the lack of strength, after all,
that led me to trust this one thing even more.

Not strength, but surrender—a willingness,
some as you might say a foolishness, to climb, 
to come right to the edge of all I know and,
having made the journey to some pinnacle,

To dive! To leap into the arms of life
and trust I will be carried on the winds
to where I am meant to be. And then, again,
to rise when I feel a battered ram or made to be

A battering ram, wrongly used, misperceived,
twisted out of shape beyond all recognition.
To know myself as something other than
this ugliness cast upon me. I rise, I rise

And learn to ride on the wave of the wind
and dare to dance with it until I believe I too have
wings to fly. And if I fall, then learn to swim, buoyed by
the oceans deep. And then to find dry land.

I suppose this could be seen as lunacy, but it is
the only thing that keeps me sane. I am alive
in a full moon dream from which I would wake you 
to see the truth of love you have never seen in me.