The body, of course, will eventually be left behind,
no matter how carefully we dress it each morning,
how we soothe it with coffee or stretch its limbs
in the hopes of gaining some small purchase
on the slippery slope of getting older.
But honor, oh, honor, it sits quietly beside us
like a dog waiting to be fed, its eyes
glimmering with expectations
that can never be met,
no matter how many doors we open
or how often we bend the knee.
You will drop your keys one day in a crowded place,
you will misplace your wallet in the middle of a conversation,
but honor, it will remain by your side,
fierce and aloof,
refusing to enter any place without first
clearing its throat.
So let the body sag, let the hands tremble,
let the hair grow thin and wild like grass,
but hold your head high,
for honor cannot be weighed in pounds,
and it is the only thing left to us
when everything else has vanished.
YOU ARE READING
21 Poems Of Reflection
PoetryA compilation of reflective poems I wrote upon reading Miyamoto Musashi's book Dokkōdō (The Way of Walking Alone). The 21 principles in his book inspired me to write the poems you're about read here.
