The

Poet of Amputees

Only a poet like Rumi

could write a line

so clean and true

and without pretense as

“You must change your life”;

and with that one sentence

make you answerable 

to all your own prayers. 

With each day looming, 

and every window inviting 

in the implications of light,

sleep can clear our slates,

dreams can rouse our souls,

the first day’s empty canvas

calls out from it’s blank page

 like a twin diary. 

We are one.

Your life is not made of furniture. 

Your well-being not dependent 

on what you know,

as knowledge can also deaden.

There’s truth we can’t see 

yet still can feel,

our minds blind

with constellated thoughts 

holding us in their place

like strings to a puppet. 

Can you feel them?

I do.

Who can return to us

what’s been lost,

if not ourselves?

 What if we were

to put aside assumptions 

made of fear,

and dare to live 

without their meaning

because all that once has life 

never stops wanting

to tell its story.

Vow again

to face the implications 

of your undying love’s audacity, 

your self-regenerating imagination, 

because you know the other is there

guiding you 

just as every story betrays it’s teller

by callously making way 

for another tale. 

We are better for being broken,

stronger for not having,

more receptive for our

belief in what’s invisible. 

The poet of amputees 

need only hold up a mirror 

for you to be whole again.

Peter Valentyne

January 1st, 2019