Not altogether unappreciated, mind you,
But different,
He wears them out with this thinking,
Having come from the factory, it seems,
With it turned up to eleven,
And having since figured out on his own
How to turn it up to twelve or thirteen, maybe—
In a world where most max out at ten,
And save that only for emergencies, really.
And it is, for this cause,
Not altogether a lonely life, mind you,
But a sad one, to be sure—
With so much to be enthusiastically
Noticed and looked into
And appreciated and figured out and shared,
And with yet so few able to go there readily—
And this, not entirely by stubborn choice, mind you,
But possibly, (he is forced at long last to admit)
Somewhat by design of the Creator.
So he sets out at long last
To look about for other outliers,
Not so quick as before to dismiss them
As freaks of nature,
But wondering now whether they
May actually be peaks of nature instead—
The one with kindness and compassion
Turned up to fifteen where three or four
Seem to be the respectable convention—
And the other with gratitude
Like you’ve never seen—
And another still, so ready to serve
As to make you wonder whether you yourself
Really understand service at all!
And he struggles to perceive some pattern
Across the array of these precious souls—
Whom he suspects
May have been living largely unnoticed
Before his very eyes all this time—
And he not appreciating them for what they are—
Until now, mind you—
Just as he himself has not always been appreciated.
And he longs to master their glories, too.
And why not, if it proves possible?—
Just has he has always longed
To share his own loves with them, them, too.
And he watches carefully,
Seeing how, like himself,
None seems particularly complete on his own,
Each having his limitations and deficits.
And he thinks he sees how, together—
If they would all get together—
They would be a sight to behold.
And it seems now such a shame
That any should have languished,
Misunderstood,
Until now.
