The Bitter Pill

Another bitter pill waits to be swallowed whole,
Exposing parts of the soul that shrink to the touch
of the calloused hands of an unkind fate
Into the emptiness of each bait-barbed experience
I thus open the door: reluctant, sullen, resentful.

There is another way:
To see beneath the restless swell of sea, a deep abiding calm that a thousand moons can hardly move.
To stanch the draining sap that saps my strength, by declaring it winter and moving ever inward.
To know that what is me is barely ever grazed by the scorching heat of guilty memories.
To witness in scars, the exacting toll of foolish journeys bravely undertaken

Yet, there is still.
This bitter pill.