"It is not the critic who counts: not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles or where the doer of deeds could have done better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood, who strives valiantly, who errs and comes up short again and again, because there is no effort without error or shortcoming, but who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions, who spends himself for a worthy cause; who, at the best, knows, in the end, the triumph of high achievement, and who, at the worst, if he fails, at least he fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who knew neither victory nor defeat." Theodore Roosevelt

Thursday, June 10, 2010

Nerves



Tension crunches across my skin as the moment becomes truth,

every corner a hostile new sharp prick of apprehension.

Drawing closer the brittle tension smolders and melts into a liquid fear.

My body is fluid, lucid to the untrained eye, I leave no proof,

bubbles drift up and pop, twitches and nervous laughter for the oncoming collision.

Calming the surface again, with smiles and cool phrases, I feel it draw near.

Eruptions as the boiling point itself melts, the moment is now,

but, as the unknown becomes known the water dissipates.

Why the fear? Why the surprise? Why the rigidity every time?

To the unknown, to change we all unwillingly bow,

No training or smiles can mask the fear in which we participate.

Yet, that feeling of total discontrol is human emotion in its prime.

What you cling to in these moments reveals you as you,

your faith, your valued chosen, how you believe the world will turn,

the unknown moments are the testing pots in which we are truly identified.

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