I’ve been thinking on this,
And here’s the way I see it.
So please listen while I make my case.
Between your thorns and mine,
How could we help but be pricked,
Except by either removing our thorns
Or keeping our distance?
Think on that for a moment.
And failing these,
What could be left
But either to surrender ourselves
To the pain
Or to dull ourselves to it?
Think on that too,
And on which choice,
If either,
Is serviceable.
In case you’re wondering,
What occasions all this reflection
Is that I have finally
Grown to the point
At which Conscience bids me
To no longer spend our time
Trading injuries
And keeping score.
And in the mean time,
Experience and Common Sense
Have convinced me
That it will not do
To dull ourselves—
Not by any means—
Since we cannot dull the pain
Without also dulling
The faculty for enjoying
What may be enjoyed.
So again, what good choice do we have
But to separate or to be pricked,
Unless it is rather
In taking that higher human road
Of volunteering to remove our thorns
So as to spare the other?
But alas!
I can foresee that
Having set out
Along that path,
We shall not make the journey
Without a thousand accidental
Prickings along the way—
Neither of us showing any promise
Of attaining perfection
Anytime soon—
And so must we form a pact
Of mutual self correction,
And depend on each other
To keep it.
And what other good choice is there?
If I am missing something,
Tell me what it is right now.
And so I have reasoned
That the first thorn to go
Must be the one
That guards against
Me correcting myself.
And the second,
The one that guards
Against you correcting me—
For why should we languish
Under the labor of but two hands
When four are at the ready?
And if you are willing to come along,
You’ll have to surrender first
These two thorns of your own.
And time will tell, of course,
Whether we each have what it takes
To stay the course,
Giving up our thorns
One by one.
And let us now pause
To imagine the glories
Of how it could be
If we do!
