Every night I lay this clay to bed,
Praying it wakes up to see a new day.
Only one part of me mumbles this prayer.
The hopeful never tiring part.
One that resists the urge to go.
The side that glimmers faintly,
Aspiring to shine brighter,
Even when the ember is dampened.
Every night I laid this pained body to sleep
Wishing it never rises,
To go through its daily torture:
An unending spiral of misery.
I say to it (the body) soothingly,
“You’re tired; you’re ail.
Slumber and never awaken.”
But no, the fighting spirit keeps above water
As deteriorating as it gets, it believes in healing.
It is staunch in redemption.
The smaller part is bigger because it has faith.