A Parable in Pictures
Thomas's first freeform exploration of rhyme
A new road stretches before me, and in the distance
I see a figure approaching.
She is truly the form of beauty; a picture of perfection
Even as I stand for the moment fixated on her,
my eyes slip to the pool at my feet and
I see in the water a reflection,
a picture.
Would that it were merely a trick
of some cruel mirror in some crueler funhouse.
But that hunched and twisted form staring back at me is me.
Truly
and
completely.
And for a moment I nearly turn to return,
because clearly she cannot see me clearly,
else already she would have turned (her back)
and fled (back)
along
this
path.
But hope is a funny thing in the hearts of men
(in the heart of this man),
and so I press
onward
and chance to ask her hand.
She proffers and (confirming that she is blind)
tells me that I am ignorant (but kind)
because, you see (don’t you see?), she has a past
and the less I know the longer this moment will last…
…at least until I’ve gotten to know her better;
the closer we are
the more we can weather
together.
The laughter in my head dies upon my lips
as my eyes search hers for traces of the quips
I’m sure she must be making.
And yet I see that in fact she believes me to be
The one who’s form is whole; rather it is she
who is, in her eyes, twisted to the point of breaking.
Then our sad and beautiful, bitter and sweet story
unfolds before me
like another retelling of the whole of human history.
Alone we are broken, together we are strong
And here is the mystery whose comprehension is beyond
A mind such as mine no matter how long
I contemplate it.
I am broken; I am scarred.
I am hurt and I am marred.
But I am also loved and being daily conformed
to the image of him in whom I have been reborn.
As she draws closer to me and I to her,
the evidence of my mistakes and failures
will become ever more clear.
And I know that soon I’ll be able to see
the things she hates that she used to be.
But those will make her more, not less, dear.
Because perfect I am most certainly not,
and if she were, I wouldn’t have a shot
at being a man with whom she could walk.
But both of us are flawed and need a hand
To make it through this broken land
So we can grow to be the one about whom we talk.
And the funniest thing happened
(as I started toward her again).
I looked into that pool
and noticed that
I seem to be standing a bit straighter than before
and breathing a bit easier than before.
The air is sweet this day. | 