Sunday, November 20, 2011

Patience in a Pulse and Helplessness

Bring me back to the child, forward to the woman,
Only let me hear music in the air and feel your breath.
My ivory tower is easy to hide in: it's only on top of my neck.
My hands once were clenched
Around what little I could gather for my confidence,
But now they are open, and what filters through my fingers leaves them heavy and confused.
If You were a bed of nails, I would pray You bend the laws of physics, so that I could lay down, and
You would pierce me through and through.
Do not leave me halfway shedding my cocoon.

Let me prove to you that I am afraid of helplessness:
I have already acquired a share of the viciousness and shame that I see in the lame, in the man that limped along with his walking wife, heavy and slow, intent on healing though couple after couple and dog after dog and jogger after jogger passed by. I wanted to tell him he was kingly, but I did not know how. His wife was a queen in her patient prodding love.

So much of life is helplessness,
How stubbornly we struggle for independence!
And again, we are caught, against rain storms and our impotence.

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