Feathers: A Book of Poetry

Gold

Who deserves one sympathy?


One's jealousy?


Who do you yourself want to be?


There are some
who wear
their one
measly
rusting
medal
like a bejeweled crown
boasting
toasting
and satisfied with what they've got
though they could have had more
and gained a bigger audience
and had a happier ending.

Some
conceal
their medals
under buttoned collars
not out of humbleness
but loneliness
thinking
no one would care to see them anyway.

Some wear a load of medals
and carry the praise of countless
who think they must be floating among stars
but that's no reality
when you see them staggering with the weight
on their shoulders identical to all else
and yet, they trudge along
striving harder
yet harder
gaining more
and accepting more.

Some have bare necks
but straight shoulders
and they stride
because the ground is comfortable and well-known
though the sky is one touch away
and the possibilities they ignored
were endless,
endless as the cosmos that evade their gaze straight-forward.

There are others with bare necks
but they're completely different,
young
not in age
but in passion
seeing the world not as closed doors and tall walls
but as open windows
a glint of gold visible if you squint,
so
they take the steps they're so desperate for.

Sometimes someone grabs it first.
Sometimes there was no medal at all.

But do they turn to a new window
or wallow in that loss forever?

That is the difference.

And finally,
there are some
with bruised necks
and the imprint of medals
that hunches their backs
in the mere memory
of victory
knowing those medals
are long gone
now.

Medals aren't any different from one another.
The way they're worn, that's where everything splits in all directions.