This is not an apology

This is not an apology.

This is not an apology. It is merely a statement,
an observation, a declaration of what is in me now.
I am guilty of believing your words about me,
          your beliefs, your accusations; of absorbing your blame.

Maybe, not so much believing; but accepting, not refuting,
not fighting for myself.  I replaced distaste of power with complacency.
I lost my voice, so long stuffed inward to avoid the discomfort of conflict.
          But lately, the discomfort of complacency has been too hard to ignore.   

I never wanted to fight fire with fire,
I’d rather fight fire with love if that is possible.
Rather not fight at all, yet given the choice,
          I will not step onto the pyre.  I will not burn.

Instead, like steal, I have grown tougher.
Strength lformed in the folds of accusations and rebalance,
of layered eggshells I’ve tiptoed through, the trickle of water for relief,
          and the hammered jolt of this sobering truth.

Nothing changes if no one changes, and no one changes
until the forge gets too hot to remain stagnate.
I cannot know your limits, but I have reached my own melting point.
          It is time for me to seek a different path.

Strength is also found in learning to be comfortable in silence,
seeking forgiveness in place of resentment,
finding faith in place of worry, and in moving forward
          even when it is disconcerting our loved ones standing still.

Most of all, strength is found in the journey.  The journey toward trusting the inner voice,
the search for fearless calm and self-assurance, toward speaking one’s truth
without silencing another,  toward hearing another’s truth without silencing our own,
          toward respecting the gut feeling that we are off-course…and finding our way again.

I am trading that sword for serenity, but do not look upon my weaponless hands
as a sign of weakness or loss of control.  Do not mistake my serenity for lack of strength, loss of power.
My hands write poetry, create, caress and encourage.  If your hands wield the sword,
          they can offer the world little else . . .  without the possibility of bloodshed, that is. 

If power is the amount one person can influence others, I ask you now. 
What is your influence, your legacy; to your children, your spouse, your friends?
Is it power itself you desire, or is power a mere vehicle to share your gifts,
          the raw energy you harness to propel your light into the world?

This is one question every person has the power to answer for themselves alone. 
As for me . . . I choose love and light, and the power of the human spirit.     

SWPoet
5-19-14