And Weariness Is My Name by Ron Sanders

And Weariness Is My Name

I have weathered wolves and deities, fought horrors dreamt and real,
kept my word and my identity, though the system bade me fail.
I have championed my brother, taken succor with the weal,
sourced my secret tides for good and ill, borne my pain beyond the pale.

I have rendered unto god and man the body of my pride
till naught remained to mark that space where faith and fact collide,
with honesty as my guide

I was written on this rock to bleed, consigned to sweat and soil,
a thing unique in cloth and creed, made common by the seams.
Like all my peers resigned to chance, to tedium and toil,
I cut my teeth on circumstance, and lost my way in dreams.

Yet while I breathe I pledge to rise, to march and never yield—
equality, my driving cause, resolve, the spear I wield,
with dignity as my shield.

I have battled man’s disdain of man, have argued every view;
a noble goal that took its toll: my final days are few.
With broken cross and broken back I’ve come to common ground,
to trade this light for entropy, to lay my candle down.

I am he: I am Humanity, in all his pride and shame.
Black, white, yellow, red, or brown; unlike, yet all the same.
And as I near that vile pit to quit this passing flame,
with one last leap of faith I claim the soil whence I came.
And Weariness is my name.


Image Credit: Surreal photo [by Jr Korpa on Unsplash]

Ron Sanders
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