Entanglement

Compassion-folk are nice,
     Except they dawdle
          (Like I dissipate
               My scarce resource
                    Of time and cash
                         On all the ops
                              Which come into my
                                    View
                                         As days go by).

They can’t perform,
     Except the pain of time
          Constricting tight
               With unrelenting squeeze
                     Enforces action;
                          Moves beyond
                               Intent
                                    Into the pain.

For action,
     Any action to these folks
          Is pain to them –
               They’d much prefer
                    To sleep,
                         And laze their days
                               In soft
                                    And dreamy comfort
                                         Of the day;

Until, of course
      Imperatives of life
          Assail their sleepy world,
               Confronting them
                    With strong
                          Reminders
                               Of their state –

That essays now are due,
     Or cash if it’s to come
          Must find exchange –
               For what, they do not know,
                    So cast about
                         They do until
                              They find some
                                   Sugar daddy
                                        In the sky
                                             Who’ll bail
                                                  Them out.

Sad day it is –
     And never do they seem to learn
          (Like me with all my
                Dissipated days,
                     Fragmented ’till their
                          Parts are cut
                              Too fine
                                   For any
                                        Task).

Sad day it is –
     Until they grasp
          With firmness
               (Like I did)
                    The good news
                         That they never need
                              To move, or act,
                                   Or surge into the breach,
                                        If they will
                                             Just this
                                                  Simple fact
                                                       Accept –

That they are part
     (Though just one part),
          Of something
               Like themselves –

A body –
     Not their own,
          But Christ’s
               For He’s the head,
                   And they,
                        Like heart within
                             Their own pulsating self,
                                  No action takes –
                                       But rides along
                                           As others carry out
                                                Their many tasks –

And yet a role fulfills
     As art,
          And song,
               And love,
                    Smooth out
                         The days
                              And weary nights
                                   ’Till summer comes.

But no –
     That calls for us –
          (Those trapped within the soft
               Or I in my response),
                     To move beyond the self
                          As entity
                               Alone –

Submitting self
     Back to that
          Tough reality
              Of life and love,
                   Not solo
                        But as one.

And if that life’s to work,
     The allergy must go –
          Dissolved by change of flow
               From in to out.

But that would cost too much –
     So they remain entrapped
          In softness,
               Warmth,
                    And comfort
                         Of their beds.
 And I –
      Remain entrapped within
           My dissipated life
                Of endless acts.

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