NaPoWriMo, Day 3

"some days this armor"
some days this armor's too heavy to hold
my spirit is weakened, i'm beaten, worn down
but the battle continues, if i'm weak or i'm bold
and i just want to let my sword drop to the ground
remove this thick breastplate and kick off my shoes
toss my shield aside, for a moment run free
feel the wind lick my hair and forget the rough noose
ever present and trying to asphyxiate me
so i sigh, hang my head - this must be what paul meant
when he asked for the thorn to be pulled from his side
but i, just like him, must look for the God-sent
glory and mercy, and lay down my pride.
(but just for a moment - a second at least -
a part of me hungers to savor the feast
laid before me, but only exciting in thought
for i know that tasting it would come to naught.)