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confounding by compounding
a tug of war between two sides, the right lobe at one end, my left at the other, and behind them equally, my Greek and Hebrew brothers.
others join rank and division, Passion takes a handful of rope, only to be met by Caution, Faith grabs a strand, and its end grabs Reason.
together they step and weave, separately they pull and heave, gaining new ground, then questioning their position, compromising their stand, and yet unhappy with the revision.
an act of futility and frustration birthed in good intentions and fought without munitions together these halves cry for separation – daily questioning my every decision.
and in the momentary peace, when exhaustion overtakes the battlefield, an intercessor arrives, and asks each half to yield…
Conviction looks to Ambition, as the Servant looks to the Slave - resurgence begins – and my Hope retreats to a cave.
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