Stroke

Clinch my teeth, give a blank stare.
Look at the sky, give it a glare.
Blood runs cold, do they even care?
Teetering on the edge, the edge of despair,

Tore up inside, can't understand why.
Grasping at straws, want to let out a cry.
How can I be so low? When I've been so high.
No one understands, don't even try.

How could he let this happen? Doesn't he see?
All my life his disciple I've wanted to be?
If he really cared he would have granted this wish.
I've worked for it, yearned for it, refused being rich.

Trust a little more? Wait a little longer?
You can't be serious? You want me to be stronger?
Gas is out, nothing left in the tank.
The further I pushed the further I sank.

______________________________________________________

Then as light breaking forth over the dawn,
Revelation comes, I’ve been waiting so long.
The point of this life, the very one we’ve been given.
Is not to see what we get, no matter how driven.
The aim is becoming, not receiving a gift.
With each stroke we are stronger, each stroke is a sift.

Of a truth I will tell you: the point is the strain,
the more we desire the more we will gain,
Not in wealth or in glory, in success, or in fame.
The very prize we will win is even the pain.

After all, what's the point of life now we see,
To become like the master, perfect be ye.
He’s the coach, the gardener, the sculptor here.
With each stroke he refines us, but the pain can be sheer.

So when you're broken, and torn, want to let out a yell,
When you're tired and gloomy, wanna crawl back into your shell.
Remember the master and the stroke that he gave.

Each stroke is priceless. With each stroke we are saved.

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