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Reparations Due

by A.M. Demarco

Looking now behind me
at footsteps frozen on the lunar surface
my freshly attuned gaze falls
on those corners of my history where, disavowed
my shadow was cast.
(A shadow whose contours still persist
in mirroring my own.)

For I did once
slowly, cautiously
once, relax
those binding cables of muscle and ligament
whose soul purpose, it seems
is self-preservation.

Finally vulnerable, naked and unashamed
I stood on the edge of the mystery.

With ease and tenderness – the first contact
and then joyful exchange
flow build and peak
until all settles
into the Om.

But the many facets of restlessness
fate, purpose, direction, ambition
(to name just a few)
separated out twisting paths
and confronted me with a world where, earth-bound
the elements of change
too often walk alone.


No
passive acceptance.
No
silent celebration.
No
gratitude for the whole spectrum,
the total experience.

NO.
I swore in a vow I refused to understand
and
with the same breath
relinquished that which was to be my birth-right.


Jaws clenched, fists raised, muscles contracted
I took to challenging all comers
friends and rivals – no difference perceived.
All who wished to gain passage met
with a hand on the hilt

even those who were set only upon communion,
they, for their efforts
received the harshest rewards

With plastic smiles in place and hands hidden from view
I misused what little I had learned.
I urged them forward with sugar sweet songs
and
Crack. Boom. Pop.
Unearned intimacy
gone in a flash.
Nothing shared, nothing learned.

Only that which lingered - a sense of regret.

A regret I hid, denied, and justified.
A regret of which I have
only recently
become fully aware.

For as I slow my rhythms
and, one by one
dismantle the chains of addiction
I find myself once again
still present – and coming back home
to center
to balance
to harmony.

And for that I am grateful.
For that I am blissful and serene.
For that
I am filled with giddy anticipation
for a day yet to come
when I shall once again know

the peace of the sage
who, unblinking, stands his ground during the storm
and emerges without a single hair disturbed.

11/11/2005

Posted on 11/14/2005
Copyright © 2024 A.M. Demarco

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Quentin S Clingerman on 04/09/09 at 12:39 PM

Sounds a bit like the Prodigal Son. Thank God, Christ paid the reparations for our waywardness! A debt we could never repay!

Posted by Joan Serratelli on 03/05/21 at 09:46 PM

Beautiful read. Glad I read this/ GREAT images

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