At The Threshold
Finding light in the dark, and reconciling decisions made.
The Call
A grim door
with an unknown opening.
The casement cast
in shadow.
A fearful reckoning,
with full intention.
Cooking mulch,
or bleeding ink.
The menu
is not a full course.
Absolved of labor,
enjoying the just fruits.
Ill-gotten sweets,
an endeavor of pleasure.
Absolute and
all-consuming.
Greedily twisting,
my original purpose.
Gaining.
Your earnings.
Depleting.
Your honor.
This is not my
Grimoire.
But a stolen,
misuse of power.
Recently, I had been thinking of power and corruption. And, how good work changes over time. We can create things that are meant for good, and they can become products that are the antithesis of their original purpose. Or we make decisions that can help put food on the table, but doing so brings out the worst in us.
Like Judas revealing Jesus with a kiss.
That last thought alone made this poem feel appropriate to share on Easter weekend.
Have you witnessed moments where good work—or good intentions—slowly shifted into something else? I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments.
This is so fantastic!!