One More Step

A bottle of ointment.  A wound so deep,
Working its magic, awake or asleep.
Be there some way for said wound to heal?
Can soul, uncaring, be retaught to feel,
Or has wretched fate already been sealed?

A musical instrument, perfectly tuned,
Played for an audience, turned deaf all too soon.
Always, it still plays melodious art,
Granting non-hearers a chance to restart
Every broken, beaten-down heart.

Where is the instrument to vanish the wound?
What is this ointment, so carefully spooned?
Why do I feel tis I that hurt skin,
My wounds sinking further and deeper within
A soul enamored and bound tight by sin?

I had a choice, the dark or the light.
Neither held upper hand in the fight.
Depending on me, either held sway.
I'd live in the night and live in the day,
Not knowing that both couldn't stay.

I'd have to choose.  So choice was made.
Never, not ever, has it made move to stay.
Ever twill alter the path tis on.
My firmness, my tenacity gone.
Ever I long for a new, brighter dawn.

One thing left.  One thing.  Just one.
Though a good part wishes but to be done,
Tis as before when I, daring, leapt.
Trait of Stick-To-It, the one thing I kept.
I reach out again.  I take one more step.

Adam Scott Campbell