Come, walk in my shoes
You stand upon the outer wall,
Where winds are mild and skies are clear,
And watch the way I rise and fall,
Quick with a verdict, harsh and near.
You call it pride, you call it stone,
A cold neglect that looks away,
Unknowing of the heavy bone
That cracks beneath the quiet day.
It is so simple from afar
To chart the course you’ve never run,
To count the scars and name the star,
Unscorched by such a blinding sun.
Come down and take this jagged place,
And feel the anchor on your chest;
Look upward with a tightened face,
And tell me where you’d find your rest.
You’d find no stubbornness in me,
No haughty wall, no careless art—
Just breath retained against the sea,
Just armor sealing up a heart.
For endurance is no gilded crown
Bestowed upon the strong and brave;
It is the stone that pulls you down,
The weight you carry to the grave.
And if you ever stand right here,
Where shadows choke the vital air,
You’ll shed the judgment and the sneer,
And learn just what it takes to bear.