“With a few flowers in my garden, half a dozen pictures and some books, I live without envy.”
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
A poem that came to me
Victory Copyright 2006 The Token Hippie
We stand facing one another, two warriors glaring across the kitchen table battlefield. Your barb has found its mark and I steady myself with fingers gripping pitted pine surface
My calculated retort is the arrow in my bow, poison-tipped and designed to harm. I prepare to release for maximum effect, feeling tension on a tongue eager to let fly.
And then, nothing. I drop my gaze in a universal sign of surrender and look past you - past your set jaw, past your squared shoulder to where children play, unaware, outside.
How did this happen? How did I lose my taste for battle? I think it is because as the child of warriors I remember well watching them exchange fire until, becoming impervious to arrows, they switched to stones - the only thing that could bruise battle-scarred facades.
They lobbed so many that the pile became a wall between them. At night they retreated from the fight and mulled it over; in separate camps, separate beds they plotted how to better bludgeon those tender marks next time around.
We are not there yet. We can still feel the arrows. There is hope. Raising my hand I unconsciously put it to my breast, feeling for the wound. I look down, half-expecting to see scarlet stains on white fingertips.
And then you are there, your regret a reassuring mantle around my shoulders, your desperate hug a tight tourniquet that stops the flow of pain.
Let’s be done with war, we say, for the sake of the alliance for the sake of the prince and the princess for the sake of love
The kiss that seals the treaty is so much sweeter to the mouth than bitter words and so much stronger