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tactilely challenged bbb w - July 17, 2016s

author’s note:

“Tonight’s forecast…dark.”
        — George Carlin
 

THE WOUNDED BEAST

Caught
in the cloud of my storm—cracked
   by my own lightning
I fumbled blindly—
desperately trying
to find my way free

until my hand landed
on the trembling hide
of that fearful growling animal.

In the past, I’d fled
and been attacked
so now I tried to ease
the headless beast
with fingertips and words

but hurt is never so simple:
when the rumble within
had finally settled to a murmur
I detected beneath the layers
an incessant funeral sob of loss

then listening more intently
I felt the groans of a battlefield aftermath:
a slow steady pain
from wounds beyond number

but the many were really just one.

I knew then my work
as doctor and nurse
would never be complete.

Faced with such a task
how can I fault myself
for sometimes abandoning
the grind of healing?—

and if I absolve myself
how can I blame anyone else
for failing to engage
with the wounded beast?—

and yet, I do
occasionally rage
at our willful blindness—

yes, I rumble and crack

until blinded once more
by the cloud of my storm

then I must listen again
with feeling
to regain my sight.

I’ve much more to learn
but I do know for certain:
feeling is essential to healing…

feeling is listening is seeing.
 


© 2016, Michael R. Patton

My War for Peace: a book

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