The Prick that Saves

The poet craves no uniformity
Of warmth or light:
Without the dark, the sting of sudden cold,
How can he write?
The lover tires from surfeit of caress,
And seeks relief
In elemental sternness, in the storm,
The trodden leaf.
The slender heart that backs away from life
Can never guess
How strength grows from the battle and a bruise
Begets success.