Struggle II

By Andrew R. Duckworth

And, I suppose, if struggle
Fled one day, it might too
Steal the traction
From these old tires
And put me out in a muddy field,
Stuck and sinking
In a pool of complacency.

And yet struggle
Is that necessary devil,
The one that stings
And regroups
In the hive of hanging pain,
Waiting just long enough
For you to recover.

Well, sting away.
My body, someday,
Will become numb
To the plague of struggle,
Until struggle dies
And, out of the ashes,
Returns to shape.