hedged in on every side
by a scaffolding of responsibility;
my path set in colored stone,
my breath coming in painful gasps,
eyes blinded to the beauty of the season
by the demands of duty.
What if I were to shatter here,
break into bits and fall away
from this annual race to the finish?
Would the star still rise,
the manger still fill with hope,
the angels sing, and shepherds cry in wonder?
Release, I think, rejoice --
stop clinging to the wall.
Please; stop, and breathe.
* * *
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