I wake up in the morning with a helmet riddled with scratches and cleats covered in mud,

But the misplaced and broken soil soon surrounds boots and the scrastches transform into dents with blood.

As I rise from bed and gaze into the mirror, I see a reflection serious in mood and covered with bruises and scars,

Accumulated from both fields with Boys of Fall and fields stained with the blood of purple hearts.

But while the sun is still rising and the mist has yet to clear,

I go for a walk down my street and wonder what my neighbors may think as they see my reflection.

Is the somber mask of seriousness and determination off-putting to those I pass?

This I often wonder as many a neighbor is returned with a smile but slides on by.

As afternoon approaches I worry less about the whereabouts of my cleats and boots,

And am concerned even more with where I will lie down to rest when night approaches.

As I think about where I may rest my head, I promise myself that I will not be restricted by the same deep fears that have consumed others.

Not a fear of being inadequate, but a fear of being so powerful, and shedding such a light, that it might draw an attention that liberates others as they look onto the one who has been self-liberated.

As the sun begins to set over a horizon that only appears to be so far away,

I wrestle with the question, as many others do at this time of day, about the kind of man that I want to be.

I find comfort when I come to realize that I will be transformed into the image of my contemplation, by the same hand that awoke me in the morning.

As the sky falls dark and night does as well, I fall into bed never to stir again on my Creator's sphere.

But I close my eyes knowing I am not bound by everyone else's, "Our Deepest Fear".