Spirit Mending

Like a bicycle inner tube
nailed to an old barn door,
my spirit bakes each day,
in the hot sun, and
freezes each night
in cold  realization
of failed results
and meager outcomes.
Infinitesimal or huge
 – failures all the same.
Shriveled, taught,
elasticity lost, this inner self
hangs from a rusted nail.

Each day, as I awake
to new hope, my spirit
breathes a simple air,
stretches through
yesterday’s dull aches
and coloured bruises.

On a healing journey, I walk
forest paths, climb rocky points,
scuff pebbles on the beach.

Afresh, I notice flowers,
detect their scent,
hear bird calls
get their answering reply.
I watch insects dart,
buzz and disappear,
smell composting leaves,
and taste tart and sweet
of blackberries from
blood red vines.

Today is better
than yesterday
and the day before.
I go to bed silently
chanting a new mantra –
“I’m retired now. I – me
choose what I want to do,
how I measure myself!”
My breathing sets the
rhythm by which I review
the results of the day.
I lazily descend into sleep
as a sigh emerges from my soul.

Only to wake again to the
feel of the rusted nail, and the sad constrictions
of failures past.

 

 

     

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