by B.E. Meissner
The rain has come again.
I expected more bluster,
But I have weathered much more pain
And courage have I to muster.
I can see the scraps of blue
Between the raging clouds
And as thunderclaps ring through
I’m throwing off the shrouds.
Shrouds of illusion that filled my mind
Fall softly away and I can see
That although my thoughts were blind
It’s not too late for me.
The mud rises up to hold me tight --
I’ve felt its grip many a time
And succumbed to its brown blight --
But this obstacle I must climb.
I can rise up from the clinging slop --
Shake away the unclean feel
Of years of endless duty. Stop,
And work toward what is real.
I alone have made the choice
To stand with back both straight and strong;
To use my mind; to use my voice;
To be the Man I am; to sing my victory song.