The Machine

Somewhere in there
lies a soul,
a heart that beats,
filled with love and fear,
passion and exhaustion,
alive despite

the things it does
with machine like perfection.

A soul you will never see
as long as it remains
to you
a creature of purpose,
and little else.

About this poem

I have one of those faces. So does the woman I love. We can be in the grocery store line or getting new tires on our car, and for some reason, people pour out their lives to us. And because of that, I have come to know that that person over there who seems fine, often isn’t.

I know a fair number of people going through tough times right now. And yet, day in and day out, they do their jobs, keep up their responsibilities, keep all their balls in the air. Their troubles are invisible, unless we stop, and listen, and look. Only then can we find our opportunities to see their hearts.

It’s not that we have to do anything for them. Very often, just being able to talk about it is enough. Just knowing someone is there to unburden themselves to is enough. In that act, we help them feel human again, no longer a machine, heading for a breakdown.

Tom

PS, the picture was taken at an Art Park near Rutland, VT. it’s part of something much larger……