04 June 4704 - My Greatest Talent silence grasps the form of the
arrow of the curse, and holds it
aloft in compass swept and shadow keen,
and
lords as though it could control the weather,
and
waits not long for the next act to begin,
wherein it tells the time that calls faith to end.
This arrow you have felt as well,
The
call at sleepless midnight screams,
and
the silence there screams, and
the arrow finds its way home, and
becomes the fleur-de-mort of ancient heritage,
with feathers on the end basking in battle's breeze.
Within you is the spirit of the cure,
Within you the call of the steward,
and
beside you each by each the natural crowd,
and
the arrows in legion cannot find a home,
and
this satori is as easily found,
as the company you keep in spirit and sight,
as the faith in your heart and the doubt in your mind,
as the silence itself while none are around.
I am not fond of that thing that is my greatest talent. Sometimes it happens
all on its own. Sometimes I help it along unwittingly. Rarely I help it along
with my spirit in it. It is a thing I dare not name.
Sometimes I can ease minds, and a poem seems to me what is called for now. I can
fathom no other way to do what I need. Imagine a wound so great that is spans
many different people's bodies. For a medical doctor, that would be
pathological. For me, it is everyday.
Friends,