The one who dances well

has the feet to thank.

But does the earth know

who dug her treasures,

and left her ugly?

If she feels the pain—

as the digger drops his tools upon her—

will she still favor him?

When the blue sky rises,

yet my room stays dark,

does that mean my night has not ended?

The earth is vast, without walls,

yet I am bound to my own small spices,

choked—

pleading for space

as though I had traveled the world and back.

Victory is born in the mind,

but without the waters of life

a seed will wither

before it dares to sprout.

So push me, Lord,

to Your favored ground.

Give me a steady stride,

an eased grind.

For none of it exists apart from You.

But with You—

everything finds peace.