Spirit, Spirit, where have you fled
To flood my soul with fear?
Absent love my hope turns dread,
As distant troubles near.
Weakness is a torment,
If a man was ever strong.
Better be the other man
Who knew it all along.
My heart is quick but failing,
And what fight I have has gone.
My ghostly pallor paling,
As this dirge becomes my song.
A touch of air turns red the blood,
As sanguine turns the mud.
And in it I slip, and sputter, and fall.
Lie a moment, struggle, then crawl.
Once all the world was ripe,
And no blow had force to stagger.
But now my eyes are not so bright,
And blows don't break, they shatter.
On arms and knees my travel now is slow,
I stop, collapse, no farther will I go.
Or at least, this is how I feel,
As I am often broken, and simply need some time to heal.