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Literature Text
On a wavetossed night I first saw you,
Little Ring.
You were given me in the great dining room
Which watched over the ocean blue.
I did not then know your significance as a whole
Just your title—purity—inscribed atop
A silver heart, a silver band
Dad slipped upon my writing hand.
To keep pure in action, so I did.
Little Ring, sitting proudly on my finger,
Pointed out the thoughts that in me lingered.
I had considered purity to be only in body, not in mind.
Yet here I was at a crossroads, holding up mental traffic.
This isn’t so easy.
I left them behind,
Dirty bags on the sidelines.
Sometimes I wander back and inspect them—
They were mine and I am quite possessive—
But I choose to drop them after time.
I wonder sometimes if it watches me struggle,
Little Ring.
Surely it can’t. It’s just jewelry.
I remember when I thought I would die with this ring still upon my finger.
Now I am assured it will be replaced—but how soon?
Now that I understand what I have missed
It plagues me day, after hour, after minute.
Sometimes, even between the secondhand’s tick,
And relentlessly.
I learn that purity is a constant choice—
And wonder how often I should make it.
In the soft glow of the night, the ring sparkles:
Freshly polished in the flesh and in the heart.
I have chosen now, and will choose again, to honor my vow.
Little Ring.
You were given me in the great dining room
Which watched over the ocean blue.
I did not then know your significance as a whole
Just your title—purity—inscribed atop
A silver heart, a silver band
Dad slipped upon my writing hand.
To keep pure in action, so I did.
Little Ring, sitting proudly on my finger,
Pointed out the thoughts that in me lingered.
I had considered purity to be only in body, not in mind.
Yet here I was at a crossroads, holding up mental traffic.
This isn’t so easy.
I left them behind,
Dirty bags on the sidelines.
Sometimes I wander back and inspect them—
They were mine and I am quite possessive—
But I choose to drop them after time.
I wonder sometimes if it watches me struggle,
Little Ring.
Surely it can’t. It’s just jewelry.
I remember when I thought I would die with this ring still upon my finger.
Now I am assured it will be replaced—but how soon?
Now that I understand what I have missed
It plagues me day, after hour, after minute.
Sometimes, even between the secondhand’s tick,
And relentlessly.
I learn that purity is a constant choice—
And wonder how often I should make it.
In the soft glow of the night, the ring sparkles:
Freshly polished in the flesh and in the heart.
I have chosen now, and will choose again, to honor my vow.
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Two words that would not leave my mind today as I polished my jewelry.
However impatient I am, I am better beginning to understand what the standard I am called to means. This isn't a physical issue, but a heart issue. What one focuses on internally, eventually makes its way into the external. Just because I or someone else is "waiting" doesn't mean they can think about whatever they want to in the meantime. It destroys resolve, it weakens the whole defense. It makes little things permissible, until everything is.
You will pardon the intellectual writing, I have listened to a great deal of audiobooks at my job, and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle is who I have most listened to. ^^
However impatient I am, I am better beginning to understand what the standard I am called to means. This isn't a physical issue, but a heart issue. What one focuses on internally, eventually makes its way into the external. Just because I or someone else is "waiting" doesn't mean they can think about whatever they want to in the meantime. It destroys resolve, it weakens the whole defense. It makes little things permissible, until everything is.
You will pardon the intellectual writing, I have listened to a great deal of audiobooks at my job, and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle is who I have most listened to. ^^
© 2015 - 2024 sceneecupcake
Comments1
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On a sunny autumn afternoon did I lose you, Little Ring.
You held tight to my finger as I let loose my heart, my morals,
my self-worth, my value.
You still sit tight on my finger most days--
Protecting me from the shame others would give and yet
Subtly taking away my will to live.
Reminding me I am a failure, softspoken, doormat, and hypocrite.
I am living a lie and to see you is to remember.
I would give anything to rewind and redo, start my life anew.
You held tight to my finger as I let loose my heart, my morals,
my self-worth, my value.
You still sit tight on my finger most days--
Protecting me from the shame others would give and yet
Subtly taking away my will to live.
Reminding me I am a failure, softspoken, doormat, and hypocrite.
I am living a lie and to see you is to remember.
I would give anything to rewind and redo, start my life anew.