I learned this lesson from my fathers well
To ignore the wreckage of a desk or room
As surely as a soul that should trespass against my path
That feared not even God the burden to greatness being so severe.
Yet grace granted a finer vision with the high horse dump
And days to repent this terrible passion of earlier years
The struggle with the dark hand of self
That can reach for this throat remains
Though more caring hands than I can count or even half deserve
Have helped grant the humor that in this darkness
Stays the power of its terrible force.