Thursday, October 22, 2009

I am a jumble of broken parts that know nothing of each other.

Antiphon: We Will Meet Again, The Wolves, The Fire, And I.

I am a jumble of broken parts that know nothing of each other.

It is as if a farmer opened his seed bin and found;
An acorn,
Seventeen rusty machine screws of unmatched sizes, some covered in tar,
Three quarters of an inch of bailing wire,
Half of a stale cookie,
Four ants,
And a dead mouse.

Or maybe it is as if a householder planted squash in the garden;
and watched the plants sprout, and grow and put forth leaves,
and blossom, and begin to set fruit;
only to come out one day and find them all blackened and shriveled with a blight.

Or maybe it is like a merchant who plotted a trading route;
And built a ship and set out;
And travelled for leagues and leagues,
Only to look through the glass and find his destination laid waste.
And planned a new route, a new destination,
And travelled to within sight of shore,
Only to be driven off by pirates.
But being unwearied and unbowed, he plotted yet another course
To a new destination, and sailed strange waters,
Only to be halted by impassible reefs and inhospitable masses of land.

So I sit with the fragments of the lives I have lived,
And wonder what to do, and where to go;
And I remember not long ago,
When these mismatched parts,
Somehow lined up and made a perfect and remarkable machine.

A plan of goodness;
A pathway to a new place;
The seeds of a new life.

And today
With my water running low
And my sails ragged
And my options limited;
I pray for inspiration to God;
Who knows how these broken, jumbled parts
Are remarkable, and
Can made to work together
Once again


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