Saturday Sonnet: Meditation

It’s true, I am a mess in certain ways,
Unstable in my tides of joy and grief,
But I am satisfied in the belief
I own the grain to feed the mill of days.
Above it all, I’m not afraid. I’m young,
I’m light, my veins are filled with hell and God.
I’ve read a lot, and I’ve heard of the rod
Fate swings unfair, but see: we can be strong.
It feels so good to brush one’s soul without
The Law, the Lord or Maker, softly free,
To have my earthly song depend on me,
Not me on it: a spring of peace, not doubt.
Reader, now I’m worth your judgment too.
Finally, I am not better than you.