When I am tempted
to allow the dark and wholly shroud
of discouragement
to cover me
I open my bone-handled pocket knife
and practice
sticking holes in it.

And through those holes
I see light,
traces of hope
on the ground before me.
Ground familiar
but not identical
to the desert of my heavy past.

I hear the songs
of wise men -
men battered but not beaten
by their perilous passage
into that wasteland.

Their lyrics lift me:
Progress not perfection.
This too shall pass.
Notice the stained glass
not just the stains.
Don't forget the gains,
the small victories are rebar
for a new high way.

Practice
recalling that light,
they say.
It is all about practice,
they say.
Whisper this
when that old shroud threatens.
Leave the burden of your errors
where it belongs -
on the crumbling pages
of your past.

When you are temped
to rest on your success
or think yourself better than the rest
you can recall your stumblings
on those crumbling pages
replete with your pride.

The next time I feel lost
and alone
in the labyrinth
I will return to those lyrics
and repeat the melody

practice
practice
practice.

04/06/2012

Author's Note: This poem is a companion to "Discouragement hangs heavy"

Posted on 04/06/2012
Copyright © 2025 Glenn Currier