The Cane

You are a Cane. 

Standing proudly in the corner of my room.

Your head is held high 

knowing that our are worth something to this world.

Sturdy as can be.  

You  are here to help me,  

Hold me and Bring me from point A to B.

Still to this day it saddens me

Knowing that I have to use you...A walking stick.

For I do not see myself as Old, Weak, Broken or Sick!

I am in denial

I couldn't walk, move or play around.

I could only sit and watch others.

I may have looked pleasant on the outside, 

but I was crushed by the pain that smothers.

Then you were there.

A gift given to me.

You denounced my ideas of never leaving the comforts of my home in worry.

Then you Announced, 

"You Will Be Free. Let the Pressure of your Journeys Bear Down Onto Me!"

It quickly amazed me on how such a simple piece of wood 

can make such a mockery of my life that once seemed so good.

I am in pain so I use you.

Then looks came my way, looks of pity and concern.

Looks that I don't care for and make me want to adjourn.

Yet the ramifications of avoidance in comparison to stepping down from my stubbornness 

and accepting your willingness to help

have brought me to the contemplation of your necessity 

and the idea of our new reciprocity.

Still, as much as I contemplate, 

you are still waiting in the corner 

and I truly do appreciate all of the help that you are willing to do.

I am honestly thankful.

Yet sadly I will forever be inconsiderate for the times I go on alone bearing this pain.

Without You...

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

A interesting poem. I liked how you used the cane. You made the reader feel and understand your thoughts. We must be graceful for the cane, in life given. Thank you for sharing your poetry and thoughts. I enjoyed your work. You are a talented writer.
Coyote