Just when the flesh is willing, then the spirit becomes weak:
our words bubble up easier, but they’re harder to speak.
So often, much less useful when determining one’s fate,
and many times, just wasted, once the hour becomes late. Then when the spirit’s willing, the flesh can tend to fail:
there’s steam to blow the whistle, but rust built up on the rails.
The reflex meant for rolling gets caught up, its aging gears
left toothless and un-oiled, neglected for so many years.We spend our spirit carelessly in worship of the flesh:
admiring how a thing performs based solely on its dress,
and burning out our bodies chasing bright and shining mist;
extravagantly wasting wealth on what doesn’t exist. And when the flesh is worn and old, we try to lay the blame
on time and chance, forgiving of the player, not the game.
Then spirit tries to rally, but the best that it can do
is play the sad curmudgeon for a last season or two. 24 APR 2023