There, but for the Grace of God, Go I

Watching the twisting spiral of a falling star, he wonders where its trail may end.

The realization that his Father was merely mortal settles deeper.

The tell tale chinks in the armor were always there, just not visible from the height of a young child. As he grew older, the chinks came into view, but were always glossed over with a heavy dose of hero polish.

Now the blemishes are so deep and cancerous, no amount of polish will return the once brilliant gleam.

Age and addiction are evil bedfellows.

Pride was that with which he was taught to hold his head high. He once read that Pride goeth before a fall. Now, he understands that Pride will smother as completely as a plastic bag over the head, when left unchecked.

The downward spiral drops lower towards the horizon.

There, but for the Grace of God, Go I.