Life struts slowly, so slowly.
Love is patient, no need to rush.
His steps are slowed,
his legs are tense.
Our thoughts are much;
piercing as thorns.
Life bears weight.
Love holds much.
Such heavy wood,
dormant on his shoulders;
nailed to his palms.
Life falls, yet life rises.
As love shall be, normally.
He fell and slipped,
yet strode along.
Dirt of wisdom
scarring his skin, our life.
What is life?
What is love?
He answers in a simple strut;
a final struggle, a final step.
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