I know him by the
one antler, the other
lost
to wear or injury, an
experience I share,
like
the butterfly’s remaining
wing, the dog’s three
legs.
I will die a crippled
thing, no perfection left
unblemished,
no wholeness intact,
no certainty
unshaken,
a poor creature and
hobbled, but in such good
company,
me with all the others who
lived long enough to
break.
I will be so glad
to see
you.
Meditatio Ephemera 
“…with all the others who lived long enough to break.” In a large sense, these souls make up the lucky ones, maybe? Those who have live life to the fullest – who are wearing out and not rusting out, as they say. -Russ
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I confess I’m unable to say what constitutes “lucky,” though I like your contrast between “wearing out” and “rusting out.” Thanks for reading, Russ!
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Yeah, I guess ‘lucky’ really does need to be put in context. And I should’ve considered that one with an angry but healing (hopefully) shoulder might have a different perspective. All my best to you. I smile whenever I see a new post with a cat print. -r
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I think I appreciate your comments as much as you do my posts. Thank you, Russ. 🙂
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Oh yes!!!!!
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Glad you like it, Bisty! 🙂
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Love it! Some lament their scars; I cherish mine. Pain lets us know we are alive.
Write on!
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Thank you, Leo. Let us both write on!
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