A prowling lion,
A hungry wolf.
Any number of things
may feast on me
because I am weak.
Sharp teeth
Sharper claws
my meek sensibility
cowers beneath.
A docile sheep dies
a quiet bird hides,
and somewhere silently
courage cries.
Fragile faith
manipulated grace,
ripping expression
right from my face.
Torn and shattered
bones and flesh,
cracked teeth
and broken speech.
Strong yet humble,
with placid rage.
I wear the many faces of
a desperate plague.