A Man in Chains

It is said that, when he was a young man,
Lincoln once saw slaves in chains
and that the sight shaped his outlook;
whether the story is anecdotal or not
it stands to reason that a man of wisdom
would see things in such a way,
a way in which he placed himself in the place
of others and shuddered at the feeling.

Once I knew a man in chains,
though they were not made of iron,
they bound him as surely as any slave
to the mercy of a limited space
in which slight movement was possible;
and, barring a miracle, they would never break
only grow tighter and the space more limited
until they had strangled life away.

Learning to live with chains cannot be easy,
those gradual limitations ever reaching,
the legs, the arms and the fingers,
the creeping agony of not pain but frustration;
the acknowledgment of loss despite the fight
each motion less until motion is denied
and physical dignity becomes a lost memory
that only wisdom can overcome.

And such wisdom is never easily learned;
forced upon us unwillingly, unwittingly
so many of us would reject it
and accept the bitterness and live in hate;
to live in love and acceptance is the harder choice,
the path stony, the nettles and thistles tearing
pieces of the soul until you would imagine
that the soul was somehow compromised.

This was not the case of the man in chains,
his soul's choice was to flower
amidst the weeds, waste and stone,
to blossom, to smooth, to soften the desolation
and those of us who came upon this
could only stare in wonder
at the difference one man could make;
but we only excused our inactivity.

I recalled Lincoln sickened, seeing the slaves,
and my heart was broken at the thought,
yet I could almost understand a transcendence
which creates such men out of dust, out of toil
that chains do not detract from their essence,
that their chains define us and our weaknesses;
it is to our sorrow that they are called beyond
but a joy that they leave us such gifts.

ARL-23

I've Never Been to France

I've never been to France but I've seen the elephant and watched the monsoons dance on the muddy water churning in the PBR's wake. I've listened to the cant of the CPO's rant but I've never been to France, I'd like to have had the chance. I've never been to France but I've ridden the tornado and watched the bullets dance through the muddy water churning in the PBR's wake. I came in bravado through Laredo but I've never been to France, and I never had the chance. I've never been to France but I've seen beaucoup grunts fall and watched them do the death dance in the muddy water churning in the PBR's wake. I let engines stall but now they're on the wall, and they never got to France, though I'm sure they'd have liked the chance.

The Story of the New Toy

A few weeks ago I ordered a new Macbook.

When it came I was very excited.

It was my first laptop computer.

I'd been wanting one for years.

I carefully opened the box,

Like the adult I am,

Not ripping the packaging away.

Like a child at Christmas or a birthday party.

But the feeling was much the same,

The anticipation,

The hope,

The need.

Oh! the things my computer and I could do!

Oh! how useful, clean sleek and compact!

Oh! the promise of power and control!

Oh! was there anything it and I couldn't do?

So, after carefully putting away the packaging,

I might need it later,

I'm not a child,

I plugged it in, opened it up and turned it on.

The excitement was palpable within my chest.

This was a new feeling.

I carefully went through every step,

I carefully loaded every program.

It was working!

So I carefully closed the top,

And I put it on my desk,

Where it still sits today.

Waiting for the time of need.

Waiting for the desperate moment.

Waiting for the vindication

Of all the expense incurred.

But sometimes, day or night,

My fingers itch and I take it in my hands,

Cool, sleek and aluminum,

I think of what may be.

I practice typing everyday.

I practice loading and unloading the software.

I open it gloriously in my hands.

I wipe and clean every surface gently.

But sometimes, day or night,

I feel the urge to use it,

For the purpose for which it was made.

I don't think I can wait much longer.