It’s the attitude that saves a man
from lying down and dying,
saves a heart from ceasing,
saves a soul from fading,
that I would rather hurt than quit,
will ache before I’ll stop.
It’s the knowledge of our particular wounds,
the throbbing mess we face, eyes wide,
that proclaims for us “it is not in vain,”
and powers us further on.
I know where my bruises come from.
I know what they’ll always be.
I know that this knotted sore in my chest
will not heal, and I do not try.
But I will crawl if I have to,
in order that I will one day run
leaving a trail of blood, if that may be.