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.