I sit in a chair of thorns
at a fractured table of glass
tired – beaten – worn
and dying of thirst
The chair tears new gashes in me
as I try to find comfort
The table buries tiny shards
just under my skin if I touch it.

I can stand
turn away from the table
and walk away from the
instruments of pain
even to heal my wounds
and feel whole
again

But on the center of the table is a glass
full of fresh
clean – cold – clear water
beside it a pitcher
its sides frosted
by it’s icy contents

I am not restrained
tied – held
there are no bars
no walls
or other restrictions
between me and
the satiation
of this thirst

There is, however, one condition
I must step through a doorway
that shall close
the minute I pass
and disolve away into wall
as if never there
and I can never go back
to where I was

yet I cannot leave the only thing I know
for what is uncertain
no matter how enticing
or glorious

so I sit on a chair of thorns
at a fractured table of glass

Such is the poignant maudlin truth, awareness is not always pleasant, and change it is not easy. Today I choose not the tempting drink, I choose not to recline in the thorny chair, I choose not to rest my elbows on the table. I stand outside the door, having chosen to walk through it. I find that the ground makes an excellent perch, that when resting no table is required, and that my thirst is relieved over and over again without thorns, without cracked glass, without splinters, and without misery. My own life was a choice, and my own way involved walking through the door and seeking out new solutions. I identified so much with what you said. I admired the beauty of the imagry, I appreciated the symbolism, and dared to not only comment but explain my view. Thank you so much for the opportunity. You wrote beautifully, thanks so much.

G

Thanks for the comment my friend. I guess for me, the fear of the unknown - of what's on the "other side of the door" - is greater than the pain of staying where I am. Yet the pain is still less than returning to where I once was.

I've climbed 2/3 up the mountain and run out of foot holds.....

mark - your dilemma reminds me of Hamlet's soliloquy =

But that the dread of something ...,
The undiscover'd country, from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all,
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pitch and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry
And lose the name of action.

i know that feeling, too.
all i can say is - for me, often the anticipation and advance anxiety has proven to be much worse than that which i feared. not that it makes it any easier the next time to face the fears...

and - BTW - don't bother inviting me to your place for a drink!


Lee

Lee - I'm curious, do you always erase the good of your post by ending it joking?

Realize, please - this is just my own impression ... but one I hoped you wouldn't mind if I asked...

Mark -
no - i don't mind - and no - i don't always add "comic relief" - just sometimes when i'm afraid i come off as too pedantic or feel insecure for some other reason...

i'm sorry if you thought i was making light of your poem or your pain.

thanks for asking.

please forgive me.
lee