When there is no way to win
and your spirit throws itself down
one or more of many thwarted paths
the failure says, you’re wrong
your choice is bad
your blighted life
is all your fault
though you may flail
and cry out, crazed, for justice,
the censure drowns your voice.
When there is no way to win
in this world
your spirit still forges itself
a rare and brilliant thing
unseen by all the dust its rays illumine
unnoticed in the thrust of days' relentless gloom
till love’s ablutions wash it clean
and there it shines
a light that overcomes the world.
©Wendy Mulhern
October 11, 2011
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