The way we are

Weak is the flesh, so weak it is. First young and fresh, exposed to tease, then more mature, designed to stun, to blind, to lure, to get it done. Then, older yet but not quite dead, it calls all debt to get ahead and, as it strains against the cloth, it drops the reigns and breaks the troth. And then one day the wisdom comes - without the fray, without the drums, but out of the bluest blue, just like a cough, just like a flu it shifts the way that shadows fall and former prey is standing tall, and flesh is no longer weak. It takes a blow, it takes a week, it takes a glance, it takes a fling, but in this dance the end is king. For every peak there is a grind; if flesh is weak, strong is the mind.