Broken Bones

A sword-wielding knight in the times medieval,

The kind that was born to a life of anguish and upheaval,

Lived a life lacking medicine and knowledge for healing,

Learnt to handle pain only in the way of dealing,

Armour-clad and weapon-racked,

Expressions hiding thus true thoughts revealing,

Trust in nurture lacked, trust in others attacked,

 

A day’s brawl on his accursed battlefield,

Brought to him injury and a broken arm,

That left his sword impossible to wield,

Without plaster cast or morphine at his disposal,

A wooden splint rapped with torn bandages was all that could be done,

His broken arm, to his alarm, would only be again calm, if he had no qualm,

About nature’s knob that developed in the bone’s middle shaft,

 

Can one call it a broken bone healed?

Can one not see the flaw in its function revealed?

Even once that limb was free to swing again,

Its reach was stunted and its sharpness of swipe blunted,

Stripped of rank and honour,

My dear knight did no longer live up to the man, to which his title did pertain,

Even when that bone was mended, it managed to cause this knight everlasting pain,

 

So the question is now appropriately asked,

What must be done to see this knight’s pain unmasked?

A blow to cleanly rebreak that bone must now be dealed,

So that with proper care it can be healed,

With patience and understanding the knight must wait,

So that he may see if fighting may once again be his fate,

And the irony of his iron ways now shows through,

For patience and understanding has taken away the knight’s desire to fight,

And in healing his fighting arm he has seen that which is true,

Pain dealt is pain received, and only through pain relieved, can happiness be brought to light.

© GILAD LEVANON 2011