The Mortgaged Soul. . .


Taking Time. . .

You say that it takes all your time to do what it is you do.  And you are the only person who can speak from that point of knowledge knowing what is required.  But we were all born doing reference work in the Talmud which teaches that the purpose of life is to learn.  And we must.  And we do, though not all at the same rate. 

In this life much is expected of us we think.  And with so many distractions, it takes longer and longer to maintain a just quality of life.  We know we cannot unbid what we have committed ourselves to.  Therefore it behooves all to choose with some knowledge what becomes our priorities. 

The privacy of minutes becomes non negotiable, except where life is in danger.  In this world where cultures are changing, it is imperative that talks ensure the fair exchange of work and accountability.  Otherwise we run the risk of bankrupt lives and mortgaged souls.  And we are an aging populace whose futures already are written on the walls.

Mortgaged. . .

Our hands brush the sleeves
of our long coats harnessing
our bodies’ warmth. . .

And meet and twine fingers
giving strength long lost
to the business of living.

The busyness of lives
succumbing to the details
of days usurping minutes
not claimed , hungry
for times floating loose.

Wise is the one hugging
closely as breath to breathe
what surrounds
the body as private.

Mine! the toddler shouts,
as he grasps what is his
loudly with force
to claim ownership.

Mine, man whispers as he
clings to the privacy of minutes
not already claimed by
the interminable needs
of the innocent.

The mortgaged soul has
to replenish his own needs
before offering more

from the well running dry.

 

primitive art by Veronica

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