Worthless Commodity?

Never peace between darkness and light…

I refuse to believe

That time is money;

That each breath is calculated

In dollars and cents,

That what I thought priceless,

Is essentially worthless…

It doesn’t make sense.

I cannot concede

That my value is monetary;

That my worth is determined

On an hourly basis,

That there is no light in darkness,

An eternity spent in stasis …

Life must be more than this.

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First of all, I have to say that I’ve missed this place- and reading what others have been up to.  I knew I’d be gone for a week, maybe two, but my absence extended and I began thinking my writing thoughts were done.  Since my last post in January, I endured a 3.5 hour trial so a judge can determine my fate in my divorce (nearly a year after filing), I unloaded the burden of ‘too much house’, lived with a neighbor for several days while in between houses, moved into a much smaller house that I selected on my own, and got knocked down by a nasty cold.  Things are nowhere near where I’d like them to be but that will take time.  And the things I want to do to make this house my “home” take money.

And this is what started the poem I’ve posted.  As I was patching nail holes throughout my house, wondering how someone could possibly have so many things to hang on the walls, I contemplated the idea of having someone paint the interior.  I quickly nixed that idea because I don’t really have money for paint, much less the luxury of someone to do the work for me.  I thought, I don’t have time or money, but right now, I have more time than money.

That realization sent me thinking about how everything seems to come down to dollars and cents these days.  I’ve spent the last year and over $18,000 fighting a soon-to-be ex who seems to view me as his meal ticket.  I could rant about that but I won’t, because I’m tired.  And besides, there’s no point.  My fate is now in the hands of God, and the judge who will determine how much I will lose.  As I look back on this last year, I’m most disappointed that my value seems to be, well, in my value… as in my salary, my savings, etc.  If I didn’t have the kids to care for, I would quit my job and live nowhere… and everywhere. I’d earn enough money for my necessities, but not enough for anyone to bother to take advantage of me.

But this is the real world.

I feel more hope than I did a year ago, but honestly, I still struggle with lows that make me wonder if I will battle darkness every day of my life.  I wonder if I will always cry when I should be happy, or feel this weight inside me when I should be soaring.  Only time will tell.

Although I’m more realistic (cynical?) than I’ve ever been, I still want to believe my thoughts, ideas and dreams cannot be appraised and converted to currency.  I have to believe that darkness isn’t a certainty and there is more to hope for than whatever this life brings.

Those are the thoughts/inspiration behind the poem.  Have a beautiful Wednesday!

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