Weak

Elisha Thompson

That is my blight, the undoubted villain of myself

I have bound myself to the open jaws of the wolf

Expecting my actions to bathe it in flame

I expect too much from an unlit forge

I must bury the spark in kindling

Let it writhe among twitching wood

Allow it to catch onto my arm

Without that there is only fear

The cold embers dying among the smothered coals

The promises I threw into the flames to forge a star 

The same ones that were lost to an unkept fire 

The same that has forged me whole

My foolishness is a helmet I seem to wear with pride

My fear a bowstring that cracks into my eye

My indolence a chest plate that crushes my bones

I must cast this gear to the depths

And abandon all protection I might have gleaned me

I must beat my scars as armor

So that the clashing of blades against it may ignite me whole.