Previous Challenge Entry (Level 4 – Masters)
Topic: PRIDE (inflated opinion of one’s self) (02/19/15)
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TITLE: I Am | Previous Challenge Entry
By Frankie Kemp
02/25/15 -
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ADD TO MY FAVORITES
of that richly hued
narrow way.
How easy it is to forget its
brilliance
when mighty winds
of threatening,
vicious
darkness
and booming
clouds--
torrents--
raise their voices.
How easy it is to forget
when the floods
rage
and appear
to be having
whatever way
they want.
In fear
and faulty hubris,
I pinch shut my eyes
and lash out
at the storm,
flinging fists
while shouting
my own demands
at the gathering
dark.
When the storm
beats me
and I lie
prostrate
and helpless,
gasping
for breath
in a
contort
of steaming
self-pity . . .
There is a different
strain
in the howling
current.
It is the voice
of my Shepherd,
the Keeper of my heart,
the Lover of my true life,
the Champion of my soul . . .
the One to whom
every wind
every wave
every thunder’s roar
must pay homage.
“Daughter,”
I hear,
and then I am
ashamed--
revealed--
in such a piteous,
battered condition.
Tears cloud
even my visions
of Him.
“I cannot stop the storm,”
I wail.
“It has beaten me!
There is no fight
left . . .
This storm has
stolen
my light--
pierced me
through,
and now
it mocks
me.”
“Good.”
“Good? Good?!
How can THIS be good?”
My reply cast in the
continued tenor
of self-pity
keeps me
in the dark
and tells the
truth.
I still have
enough
pride
to feel sorry
for myself.
“What do you love
most, Daughter?
What do you love most?
Winning—
or me?”
“You,” I cry.
“You’re the reason
I want to win!”
“Calm down, then,
get up, and walk toward me.
I never told you to stop the storm.
Don’t forget who you are,
and definitely don’t forget who
I am.”
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