Integrity

I don’t have the gift of flying.

It would be a lot more fun though.

Instead I possess the art of dying.

The ability to stand and take honesty’s blow

Is a bittersweet trait I’ve come to know.

Instead of devouring self-serving cravings

I aim to encourage others in their shavings.

Others craft gifts out of clay and wood.

Their talents are great, and seal my fate.

Their fame is sure

My lack is pure

Enthusiasm is great

But talent goes to state.

I could leave sulking and bitter,

Seeking comfort for a hard working quitter.

I shall be no craftsman or famous potter,

My handiwork will not fill museum halls

Or craft gazeebos for international balls.

My dreams have died

And often I sighed.

Now when one is blue it is easy only to cry;

But amidst rejection I help other’s dreams fly.

I tell them how they do things others only wish they could.

Using warm words of affirmation to water their gifts like only I would.

They beam, grow, and smile.

I stay, and die awhile.

It is a loss and a win.

They grow with my dreams’ defeat.

Self-sacrificing praise is far from neat.

I don’t have talents that I choose

But still possess gifts I can use.

I have words in the caboose,

Integrity challenges me to set them loose.

It causes one not to indulge pity,

And tells of a trait most gritty.

It will bruise and it will hurt.

And makes me feel weak, weak as dirt.

Never does it come easily or without trouble.

It is carved through test and trial double.

When the sun went down and work remained

It was tempting to cheat, avoiding pepsi that pained.

The back of the book In just a quick look

With no guard to call me crook sounded tempting but fleeting.

What does one gain by cheating?

An hour of sleep they will never keep?

Trading character for the wool of fake sheep

In short it may be sweet,

But leaves stains far from neat.

It degrades the player and the field

And leaves marks I detest to yield.

I value the uniform on my chest;

It declares my city, my team, my best.

Perfect I’m not

But character’s not bought

It’s burned Not earned.

It sure isn’t cheap

But benefits you’ll reap.

It may seem worthless when the lights go dim

But when the sun shines bright it’s value ain’t slim.

Its value is pure, its value is true.

A trait I have certainly not come to rue.

Because it goes beyond success or a crowd

And gives me the creds to stand true and proud.