They are scarred and stained.
They carry a number of memories.
They’ve held a number of chains,
They have walked many miles.
They have kicked the habits, the enemies to the curb,
and they will walk until they cannot anymore.
They are holding.
Stressed, yet staunch.
Loving through the hatred.
Able, and that’s enough.
It is dying a little each day.
It has morphed and contorted.
It has been beaten down to a pulp that was fit for the weekly garbage.
It has held itself up.
It has faced the demons of the past, and will face those to come.
It is God’s creation,
and I’ve willfully destroyed it.
The part of me that is thrown back and forth; tumbling.
One day, close to Him. The next…
Through Christ, alive.
The hands. The feet. The flesh that rests upon the weary bones.
The memories that will remain in others, for a time —
after the flesh has fallen away and after the walk is over.