The Price of Harmony
Pain cracks the shell you have smugly constructed
to guard understanding by which you’ve conducted
your life, with pretending you’re safe and serene —
secure in belief that you’ve already seen
what’s important in life that you must needs retain
so to gather yourself back to heaven again.
But pain is your signal — there’s more to be known
and the harvest continues of all that’s been sown.
Awareness in thinking there’s something askew
that leaves balance unsettled — so having no clue
your discomfort drives words from your lips seeking sound
because silence is agony when doubt hangs around.
A doubt buzzes round tuning into the rot
on the hairline that wedges your armor of thought.
You cease to feel peaceful, secure and content
while serenity’s curtain has cruelly been rent.
No longer is confidence led by conviction
cause doubt brings up worry to find where a fiction
has laid undiscovered but thought to be real
til conflict comes forth with a challenge so real.
A soul you have treasured has failed to agree
with your mighty conclusions of all life must be.
The failure of harmony shakes where you stand
on the putrified pedestal built by your hand
with a naive assumption you’ve nourished so well
that all that’s important is just yours to tell.
When hearing is called for temptation is great
to ignore what’s to hear cause your pride won’t abate
and to shut up your voice feels like humbling pie
with the crack in your armour expanding the lie
that you’ve carried so long it’s become more your king
than the honor of wisdom with which you might sing.
Resist the temptation to speak if you will
and I promise you’ll climb higher up on the hill
where the view is harmonious and lovely to share
with the loved ones whose spirit was willing to dare
to confront your opinion with one of their own
that reveals what your smugness could never have known.
Pain cracks the shell of what you thought you knew,
to preserve all the goodness that stays in your view
of yourself as a being of worth and regard
when a time of revealing is shaming and hard
to accept with a feeling that all is still right
and you’ll sleep with contentment when on comes the night.
©Arthur Ruger, 2007