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THE LESSONS MY PAIN HAS TAUGHT ME
SOLSTICE
AFTER THE FALL
There are no magic words
To days long past when I believed
For justice is a fantasy
Now precious life's held cheaply
And crippled bodies struggle
To banish pain and terror
Tumbling back into the pit
And those who should know better
They urge me to "get over it"
How rare is true compassion
And so I struggle onward
The shriek of metal's over
Though I escaped hell's elevator
NO LIGHT SWITCH FOR THE SOUL
A ROBOT REBELS
Text, photographs and graphics copyright 1997 by Michele C. Petitt. All rights reserved.
The lessons my pain has taught me
Were not easy to learn
No obvious pearls of wisdom
Glinting from the depths of despair.
I had to prospect for the gold
Amongst the gloom,
Digging deep and sifting
Through layers of dirt and darkness
To find the precious truth--
Without pain, there is no compassion.
For who can understand
Another's pain if he has never known
The agony of the body's betrayal
And the doubt of the mind's capacity
To handle so visceral a loss?
My pain has taught me
To care for the aches of others.
My pain has taught me
That there is no prize for having
The busiest life,
For scheduling every moment
And rushing through years too quickly
To pause to rest breathe think.
My pain has taught me
That you see more beauty
Doing 15 than 55,
That a moment's reflection
Is as much to be prized
As a week's paycheck.
My pain has taught me
The arrogance of assumptions.
I was so sure I was in control
But pain has shattered that illusion.
My pain has taught me
The value of things that do not come easy.
Where once I never had to sweat,
Now everything is a struggle.
My pain has taught me
That I can not go it alone.
I have been humbled by dependence
And understand the strength required
In asking for help
And the love that tries to give it.
My pain has taught me
That paying the price
Doesn't mean with easy money
And that there is a price
To anything worth having
Including self respect
Which comes when you face the pain
Instead of burying it.
The days now stretch
And the nights shrink
As winter releases its grip
And the world is reborn.
A new season.
A new beginning.
All is possible.
I rejoice in the renewal of the Earth.
And celebrate the chance
To reinvent myself.
I sit vigil on this longest of nights
And with the dawn
I release the pain of the past.
And let it slip away.
For pain has been a stern teacher
But I have learned her lessons well.
As winter retreats
So do the old hurts.
I release them and face the dawn
Eager to feel the sun on my face
Trusting that there is
Growth yet to come.
-21.xii.97
To heal the hurting heart.
No balm or charm or chant
Can turn the clock back to the start,
In justice truth and light
For I've seen far more of darkness
Than is any one soul's right.
And life's an endless night
No longer do I trust that
In the end all turns out right.
And playing God's in vogue
And the scars it leaves run deeply
As cruelty kills sweet hope.
To ascend the slippery slope
To days of former glory
When body and mind were whole.
And reclaim the shattered soul
Too often though I falter
And lose my way in error
Of nightmares and depression
Fantasies of cold revenge
Flashbacks and panic simply do not quit.
Mock and minimize my pain
Or else they blame the victim
Or dismiss me as insane.
And treat me with disdain
Or, even worse, they humor me
As sympathy they feign.
Understanding rarer still
Perhaps that isn't possible
For those never nearly killed.
Imitate the life I led
Before the fateful evening
When I thought that I was dead.
The winds have now died down
But I'm engulfed in memories
Of the plunge I can't drown out.
After two long hours and a half
I left my soul, my spirit
At the bottom of the shaft.
Life is a blackout.
We fumble in the dark,
Seeking, searching, stumbling
Towards the elusive light
Of Self-Illumination.
But the circuit is broken
In the paths of the mind,
There is no light switch for the soul.
We fumble with mental flint and iron
To light the fires
Of understanding from within,
To ignite the flames of sacrifice
At the altar of Delphi-
Know Thyself.
"Be a good little robot,"
They ask of me.
Stifle creativity, imagination, desire
And march upon the narrow path
Among business-suited, briefcase-laden ranks
Of pragmatic automatons.
Pestigious law firm / sweatshop / grave
Death by conformity
The capital sentence handed down
To a poet with a law degree.
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