Poem: Metrics

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What about the things that cannot be measured?
Love. The feeling of being cherished.
The joy of mattering. The sadness of not.
Dreams realized. The memories of touch.
Grief. Faith. A walk in the woods.
The taste of coffee.
What do we do with these things?
How do we assign them value
in a way a world obsessed with metrics
can acknowledge?

About this poem

Filled with more questions than answers today.

It seems to me that more and more, we use metrics to measure everything. And yet, so often, It can’t. As someone who deals in matters of heart and soul, both temperamentally and as my work, I wonder at times, where this will lead. How will we measure God? How will we measure love? Because you know we’ll try.

The picture is of pressure valves on the Steamboat Ticonderoga at the Shelburne Museum.


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