I wish I could still see

these hostile columns whose strength

mocks me with the knowledge

of what I used to be.

I once ripped the doors off of Philistine gates,

but now I succumb to these chains of mere bronze.

To remember the enticing caress

of her gentle, delicate fingers through my tresses

is to know the foul taste of betrayal and guilt.

The ferocity of a lion

wells up within me against the cruel reminder

of the chilling wind on my scalp

as I pray for the strength to stand strong one more time

and do more than that jawbone ever could.