The Right Slave

My body is a rebel.

If I’m trying to blast off it’ll stall the shuttle, and if there’s only 30 seconds on the clock it’ll waste the huddle…

It wants what it wants, and fights against what’s best, I guess, if I let it have its way I would never rise from getting rest.

It prefers to chill than to interact, to eat than to chill, to nap than to eat, and more than anything-

This wretched body craves sleep.

From my cells to my sole, and from my ignorance to my know-

It tells me that all I ever need is “just a little more.”

A little more sleep, a little more rest, a little more folding of the hands and laying of the head…

Every time I awake I know I could’ve awaken dead, and that this body must be my slave lest it become dread.

There can be no reasoning, no loop holes, and no way out, for my resolve outweighs the weight of the oppression draping me over the plow..!

True power lies between rage and serenity, the enemy is my inner me, intricately entering its history into me-

But now I hold the pen, the reset, and I’ve got the burn to win.

In order for me to accomplish, I’ve to get firm and stern and set my flesh into enslavement.

Shackle it to my will, and whip it when it gets out of line, because the reality imparted by the Divine is that this life isn’t my goal-

It’s already mine.

**

~The Wordsmith

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