Handicapped by Nature

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An anchor tied to me…made of nylon and other inorganic matter.

Material that does not budge.

For all the wrong reasons…it is an impediment…closer than blood.

Weening myself… I trudge over glorious granite…dismembered wooden limbs.

Into the belly of nature.

Forcing a battle of all my will and woes.

Assuming without my hindrance…I cannot go…

Where others go!

Deep in the stomach of lost rivers…I find I am the only fool…I know.

Traveling minus a crutch…

Bracing for pain.imageedit_8_7891538195

Rising to the challenge…Strong against my device…

As bold as, my boldest foe.

 

Able Bodied

Tossing a heavy crutch down a bloated well.

Scars bury beneath a tussled earth.

Gathering impediments, brown and tan begin to swell.

Thus, commences lessons that only the unable can tell.

Vacant voices ringing in the ears.

The faces falling.

The lackluster fears.

An aching ever present but not often, accounted for.

Tethering a need for explanation…if ever such a way.

I would leash it around my weathered hand.

If ache be a journey…

What to give for a trip that never turns out as planned?

Moderate Ignorance

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On the stairway to self-preservation.

An allotment of goods.

A brace, some pills…none with thrills.

All rainbow arrays of impediments.

Difficult to imagine a day not perfumed by my self imposed…handicaps.

With a suitcase of vertigo in hand.

I travel the stairs, everyday, often with dismay.

I daydream about what it is I am attempting to avoid.

But that only depresses me.

Provides an income, where I can become further annoyed.

I can hold to self-doubt and pretend it is not the germ ridden handrail…

that it is.

However, my ignorance may kill.

It also allows me to live.imageedit_110_9303605407

The Obscurity of Trees

Minus pride,

I gaze upward.

Toward the elusive static that are the fingers of torment.

Arrogant are the attempts to see the obscurities for what…they are.

Nothing but mere intensely formidable, live-in scars.

And, I?

I am nothing but the wick to the flame…burning ever so bright.

Eternally adjusting the delicate balance.

That is my willingness to fight.

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The ache needs me for a lifetime.  The will to fight?  It only needs me for today!

Breathing by Mark O’Brien

Paralyzed after contracting polio;  Mark O’Brien knew of pain.  The suffering one incurs while facing life.  Life often in the stares of others.  Life in a road map filled with onlookers who prefer to judge than understand.

Burn’s Lake, NH

Breathing

Grasping for straws is easier;
You can see the straws.
“This most excellent canopy, the air, look you,”
Presses down upon me
At fifteen pounds per square inch,
A dense, heavy, blue-glowing ocean,
Supporting the weight of condors
That swim its churning currents.
All I get is a thin stream of it,
A finger’s width of the rope that ties me to life
As I labor like a stevedore to keep the connection.
Water wouldn’t be so circumspect;
Water would crash in like a drunken sailor,
But air is prissy and genteel,
Teasing me with its nearness and pervading immensity.
The vast, circumambient atmosphere
Allows me but ninety cubic centimeters
Of its billions of gallons and miles of sky.
I inhale it anyway,
Knowing that it will hurt
In the weary ends of my crumpled paper bag lungs.
##Mark O’Brien