“Poetry is finer and more philosophical than history; for poetry expresses the universal, and history only the particular.” (Aristotle)
Shiny and gold is my weighing scale, Measuring heaviness of a heart that’s frail.
The impact of the load is difficult to balance, Stabilizing the base plate takes great valiance.
Which weight goes where, I do not know, The tension inside trying not to expose.
It’s one thing to understand and consent, Another entirely to accept and foment.
But the beam of my scale remains strong, Reminding that the mass I carry belongs.
Heaviness of obligation lies suspended, Duties and choices go not untended.
Burdens and delights balance the lever, Pushing complacency unwillingly farther.
It’s intricate to achieve true calibration, When the heart and mind are in question.
The force of the spring is always felt, When unwelcomed loads are dutifully dealt.
Impossible to ignore is the fulcrum’s edge, Providing an immovable center to pledge.
My weight indicator shows less than expected, Someone lightening my load has been detected.
But in the end Lady Justice will prove, Which weight to admit or which to remove.
“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” (Matt. 11:28-30)