You wish to fashion life, to carve it
according to your desires
At times, you sculpt carefully,
delicately;
A corner rounded off here, an edge
whittled away there,
Seemingly without violence
More often though, your cuts are
swifter, frantic, more desperate
As you hack away at everything you
wish were not so
Despite your efforts to excise all
that you dislike
Life – whilst it may appear, at
first, to conform to your will –
Has a tendency to remain stubbornly,
brazenly whole
It keeps all those discarded, broken,
misshapen pieces for you
Knowing that, one day, you will need
them: they are essential to your survival
For they are the very thing that your
soul most craves
Then, when all the defences have been
stripped away
When there’s not a single fibre or
sinew left to hold you upright
When struggle, effort and opposition
are ablaze on the pyre
And you are prepared to fall on the sword
of what was and what wasn’t
You realise there was never anything
missing
Despite this loss of incalculable
proportions
All is intact. You’re whole. You’re
here.
