Grit

Walk wounded.
Healing takes time
You do not have.
You’ll heal along the way,
Or you will have to, if
You want to be ahead of
The wolf at your door,
The difficulties keeping pace with you,
And the angels who hold you up
When you’d otherwise fall.

Walk wounded.
It slows your pace,
Gives you reason
To observe more keenly,
Count your steps,
Make every movement
Count for something

Because you won’t waste
The pain you feel
From each heel,
Through your soul,
To the very roots of your hair.

You won’t waste a thing
Because each thing costs
So much more,
Demands everything,
Often more than
You think you can afford.

Walk. You still can,
Wounded as you are.

You still draw breath
And your fire burns
That much brighter
For every
Pain-filled
Step.

Walk.
You are alive
Where others have died.