The Pin

author’s note:

A long poem.  But I tried to be concise.


THE PIN

Early on, I was pushed
to put a pin in my heart
by those who believed
hearts should be pinned

and I obeyed--hoping
they’d then stop pushing.

Well, at first, I was able to ignore the pin.
But as the world continued to push me around
I began to wake and as I woke
I began to feel the pin stabbing my heart--
a stab with every step:

usually just the pin’s point
but

sometimes, that tippy tip tore a sore.

And as I continued to wake
I woke to the people passing--
I saw so many wincing in pain
just as I was:

good to know what people feel
but
I didn’t know how to help them--

I could hardly help myself.

In the distress of this confusion
and the burden of seeing and feeling
so much pain
I grew tired
and sought refuge in a winter’s cave.

But as I kindled myself
in the cold dark
I could feel the pin burn
even more intensely
in my heart.

So I pulled at it
with all my focused might.

And yet
I still couldn’t pry that spike loose

but continued because
to work felt better
than to rest in defeat

and I saw no greater challenge--
to succeed would be
a redeeming accomplishment.

I then realized I’d found
what I’d gone inside to find--
thus
I’d completed my stay in the cave

so I walked out
and around
and once again, saw people wincing--
I saw pain from heart pins
everywhere I went--

I felt that pain
and wanted to tell those folk
what I’d discovered underground
however
I knew I needed heal myself more
before I spoke--
I’d not yet earned the right.

Frustrated I was, but
I did find some comfort in this thought:
by trying to heal myself
(to the highest degree possible)
I would be doing at least a little
to heal the wound that began
at the birth of humankind

and furthermore:
if I opened my chest just a bit more
--a bit more--
some of the wounded in our wounded world
might notice me trembling
in the slow removal of the pin
and see their own struggle in mine
and know again:

despite the frustration of such tedious work
better we fight than lose hope--
what greater occupation
than to balm and bind
the wounds of this world?

  © 2020, Michael R. Patton
  Poet, Heal Thyself: poetry ebook

The Soul of a Worm

THE SOUL OF A WORM

According to one theory
we all ascend to heaven after death

but soon feel overwhelmed
by the magnificence
and lose consciousness--
we fall asleep then fall
back down to Earth

to live yet another life
in search of heaven lost:

like worms we crawl
up the mountain of our lives--
pulled by a longing for the clouds

and as we climb, we grow
stronger ever stronger

until, after many lifetimes
we’ve built enough strength
to accept the magnificence
of that high spiritual power:

only then can we live
as permanent residents of heaven.

A good belief, I think--
just consider this benefit:

now, everywhere I look
I see fallen angels growing strong
in the climb called “human life”

and in so seeing, I feel blessed
to be here among you--
not just a worm among worms
but a soul among souls.

However, I wonder...
wouldn’t the pure bliss of heaven
eventually become monotonous?

With that in mind
let me suggest this addition to our theory:

once we’ve able to stay in heaven
we don’t stop--no
we merely take a breath, enjoy the view
then began to climb anew--
up another wild twisted path
up another mountain
this one even steeper than the last--
we aim for another heaven--
a heaven even higher--even more magnificent.

In this way
you and I ascend
to heaven after heaven--
no end to the heavens we can attain.

Perhaps some will still prefer
to imagine themselves at final rest
but speaking for myself
I would never want
this kaleidoscopic mountain scene to end--
painful though it is.

© 2020, Michael R. Patton
Poet, Heal Thyself: poetry ebook

The Wise One

author’s note:

I’ve met more than one wise one in this life.

Sometimes for only a moment.  But a moment can be enough.


THE WISE ONE

When I saw how wise she was
I told her:
you’re at the very tip top
of the mountain top

but she replied:
we all possess a high spirit.

That’s hard for me to believe
I said,
when I see so much greed
and cruelty without remorse.

A cynical comment, perhaps
but I was hoping
she’d feel concerned and help me
see more than a few stars
in our darkness

but no--

the wise one spoke no more.

I cursed her silence then
but now, I think I see the purpose:
she knew, in time, I’d feel
overwhelmed
by all the brutality
I saw in our world.

Then, in desperation
I’d search for ways to hope

and when I couldn’t find
any better remedy
I’d finally decide to accept
her belief.

I’d accept:
we all hold a high spirit--
a spirit that impels us to climb--
that aims us toward the tip of the top.

Yes, some may seem quite low
but they’re headed in the same direction
as those who walk above the clouds.

And yes, I know, as a whole
we don’t appear to be
making much progress
but
you can only climb a mountain slowly.

As you can see, I’ve built on her idea--
her silence allowed me to develop
my own vision--
a perspective

which I use to lift my spirit
and decrease the drag on these feet
as I creep
toward the tip of the top.

© 2020, Michael R. Patton
Poet, Heal Thyself: poetry ebook