PERSERVERENCE

His face is hidden from view.
Echoes of pained breathing,
The only sounds that fill the room.

Another man complains on a cellphone outside,
Waking up someone at an extended-stay apartment on the other end.
I complain of nerve flareups in my wrists
As I write, perservering, presing on to finish my poem
While I watch him in painful, silent, serene, meditation.

Everyday, watching him dragging his weary body out of bed.
Everyday, getting his reserves from a Power greater than himself
When he doesn't have enough to do battle himself
Inside and out.

The colorless spector of Death bleeds his face white,
But he finds just enough S-O-N-light
To chase away his shadows
Without a word of reproach
Without a word of regret,
But always with outstretched hands for others.

I look at my hands,
Nerve endings on fire
And realize I don't have shit on him in the way of perserverence.

(12-9-2008)