The Problem with Arrogance

When the one who knows everything

Speaks with such authority

Leaving no room, no opening

For a different thought,

A different color.

Then for the other there is no reason to be,

No addition, no view of a different shape,

No line of a different melody,

No being needed,

No place to be.

 

It was while the one hand shaped and sculpted,

Fashioned all that was needed

And brushed paint across the surface,

Burnished the metal found

Here and there….

It was then

That the other hand…

The other hand silent, unmoving,

Waited in the shadow.

Its gifts lost.

*****

Poem by,

Patricia Woolever

pwoolever@susumc.org