I AM NOT DONE
Oh, weary is my soul. Heavy is my spirit. The traps of the world lay before me.
Where can I run? Where can I go? How can I fight? I am only mortal. I am only one man.
My enemies have me in their sights. They see me moving. They have seen me looking towards my mountain and have called their brothers to arms to rise against me.
They plot and scheme and prepare to ensnare me. They lay before me sinkholes, and shatter pieces of glass, and trip lines. They wish me to fall. They wish my demise. They seek to destroy my spirit. To rip apart my soul. To waver my beliefs. They seek my retirement from this life.
Because they are afraid of me.
They know if I start the climb up towards the mountain I will take it. They know that if I lay siege upon the city, it will be mine.
They know that once I draw my sword, I will not rest, I will not tire, I will not give up until every one of them lay upon the battlefield in pieces and watch as the ravens and beasts of the earth feast upon their flesh.
They were not hostile until I started to move. Until I decided not to stay down.
They do not fear the still man. They do not fear the quiet man. They do not fear the man unwilling to engage in battle. Unwilling to carry the weight of the sword.
They fear the moving man. The changing man. The growing man. The man who despite his many faults and failures, continues towards the mountain. The man who bandages his wounds stands to his feet and lets out a battle cry,
“I am not done! I am not finished! Is that all you have? Is that all you can do to me?”
Weary is my soul. Broken is my spirit. Shame and doubt and fear follow close behind me but I am not done. I have only begun.
I will challenge the normal. I will live above reproach. I will live differently.
What can my enemies do to me? Nothing.
I am savage. And I am not done.
She was Guinevere Starchild…
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