The Mastery of Victory

The day I attempted to express concern about him
I got a “well, you just have to get on with him’’ response
From a few correspondents.
He was the most respect-demanding person I had ever met.

Really!

A day never passed without his pomposity
And night never came without an exhibition
Of his exuberant flamboyance.
I never wondered why.

Really.

I had many encounters with him.
He had a unique feather in his cap
It glittered more than the galaxies
His fingers could string the finest words
And they could craft lyrics like sculpture.

One time,
He was standing tall on his feet.
Then, he lifted up his head a little
He could see he had legs like a champ
He hand hands like a champ
And his face shone with grace
He knew, even before the mirror confirmed
That he looked like a champ

He walked like a champ
And thought he might even smell as such
But he was not quite sure
What that smell should be like.

He knew he had become what he’d always wanted to be
But he was not quite sure
Because it was not exactly the way he'd imagined it.

He’d imagined the tours, the readings,
And the TV interviews with CNN and Oprah.
He’d imagined the reviews in the New York Times
Extolling his magisterial works of literature
And his illustrious books of poetry.

He’d imagined his articles flying in cyber space
On every site
Around the World Wide Web

But what he’d never had any reason to imagine
Were the expectations that came with his imagination.
That, not putting his talented fingers to work
Meant, not possessing them at all.

So then, he had to work
He had to write in English, French, Czech or German
Or even in some other language yet unspoken
And it would have to be good;
Extremely good!
Yes, he had to labor!

Or maybe not
Oh what a delicious ambiguity!

But either way,
He had to remember
That to be humble
Humble
Humble as a lamb
Is to bear the passport
To any kind of exaltation.

That humility exactly, is what it takes
To be a true champ!


*Also visit Panorama-Blaze

~Poem by Trudy-Elsie 

06-24-10

1:34am