To That Which Makes Me Whole

I borrowed the idea & the style for this from a friend. This was based on the original poem "Hoarse Honesty": http://autumnsprings.wordpress.com/2014/03/17/hoarse-honesty-31714/ Mine pales but here

Dear eyes

I know you were meant to see

but you see too much.

You show me hurting people every day,

the pathways carved by dried tears,

the smiling faces of hidden pain,

and just how close they all are to being happy.

Dear ears

Oh the screams you have heard

and the screams you have not.

The silent ones have been the worst.

If you could speak,

oh the stories you could tell.

But you would not.

For you are the echo chamber that is the last bastion for painful secrets and secret histories,

spoken memoirs of pain.

You are where they remain,

rattling around your halls,

your canals---just ghostly whispers sometimes

but whispers weigh tons and have pointed tips (carry sharp knives/sticks?).

My dear ear,

I know I put you in these situations and place your scarred halls in the path of these arrows

time and

again.

But I know you.

Though your stones yearn to rest and settle,

so too do they lean ever so slightly,

contort ever so lightly 

to catch the sound of a whimper carried by the winds,

caress it,

sit with it and bear witness to it     --for sometimes that's all a whimper needs

--a place to rest and be heard

and send sand grains to follow it back to the source

leaving crumbs leading back to a place of respite

where whimpers are no more.

Dear hands

Sisyphus had a more manageable task than that which I give.

No less do I ask of you than everything

for everyone.

I'm sorry for the scars that Have come and Will come

and that I never put you down.

I make you hold bigger and bigger things

always with the promise of even more on the horizon.

Because the world cannot yet be made perfect.

and the tapestry we weave unravels as we go-- even in you, 

my hands.

Dear heart

I know you keep me alive

but living to see this continue is almost no life at all. 

For my hands are too weak,

my eyes too keen,

my ears too open,

and you...

      you insist on making me feel.