POEM: Mission

There are people that I love being in orbit around and then there are those to whom I am just polite. I find there are more and more of those sorts of people taking up more and more of my space and time, but the thing is this: you cannot always dictate who pulls up a seat to your table, so what is one to do?

There are even more people who see no value in being polite at all, no matter what the circumstance. They city the “brevity of life” as their motive as in the common phrase with which they regale others: “who has time for this sort of foolishness?” not realizing that all of life is foolishness and it is his seriousness that is out of place, time consuming, an endless purgatory of sitting around , throwing rocks at everything they believe is really a hornet’s nest. There is an aspect of self-punishment to it, really.

We need to dig out soft places, people, soft places around us to house the most vulnerable parts of others in safety, those things that we carry with us and have nowhere  to rest them while we put on our heavy armor and mail to do battle with dragons of every shape and color and size.  Events buffet us all day, everyday, like radiation, like pollen, we are constantly under attack. Who doesn’t need the soft wind at our back every so often, if for no other reason than to remind us of what our destiny truly is?