Personal Poem---(to my robot)

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The dancer wants to dance
                           even in shackles


I have called a meeting of all my parts;
Two robots scuttle away, but one
                                 forms out of the shadows
And joins the human passengers on our bus.

Oh!! this robot has slurred speech,
                   the right side drags;

A stroke victim.

It wants to learn to walk again, but it's composed of
     metal parts, smelted in fire of trauma.

O.K., O.K., O.K.,.....breathe.

Slow by slow, little by little. Baby steps. Baby efforts.
We can do this.

Stroke victims get discouraged when they look around,
At all that care-less walking.

Here's blinders.

Yes, but it wants it's Mama.

Guess that's gonna be me.

The parts have to catch up to the whole, so--
I'll mother my ugly duckling, and
Tantalize the "I want" thought....
Lead it away from the tangle of
                     "I don't want"'s, because "I can't"'s.

It yells: "Can't get blood from a stone!!!".
I say, No stones, No stones...

You are my brave robot,
               made of parts of painful experiences,
..and you are here... we've met brave one...

...They'll say it was a wonder...

..In you I am well pleased..

The dancer shall walk again,
                    and it shall be as dancing.    





Author's Notes/Comments: 

written after a psychological debacle.

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saiom's picture

magnificent, simply magnificent