Stones

You keep your nose to the grindstone for too long and bits of you get worn away

Little bits at first, the same extremities you lose with frostbite

Only this is not just the cold of an artic freeze

This is the cold of an uncaring world

Where every step is a battle

And every victory is just the delay of defeat

And as you get smaller

And lose pieces of yourself

To the constant pressure against that unstoppable grind

A millstone goes round your neck

And forces you closer to the spinning wheel

And you get smaller

And the weight gets heavier

And the pace gets quicker

And you become tiny

And the weight becomes ponderous

And the pace becomes arduous

And you are microscopic

And the weight is back-breaking

And the pace is punishing

And you are just about to lose yourself to the void

But

Your foot is on the pedal

Your hands put the millstone round your neck

Your own doing that parts of you have been ignored

They looked at me and said “Hey, take it easy

Here, take that silly thing off

Let us carry it for a bit; it’s really not as heavy as you think”

They looked at my wheel and said “That doesn’t need to go so hard”

And showed me how to keep it steady and mild

So I could breathe

They looked down at the pieces and said “You’ve really let yourself go”

And picked me up and helped me to my feet and nose and sanity

And steeled me from further wear and tear

In short, they saved me from myself

-D.M.D.M. 8-5-06