They call it “a gift” -
now it remains separate
from you.
How can you say “I am a gift” -
even Plato would complain.
You have a gift.
Now what your occupation?
A dutiful messenger?
A toiling gardener through turning
seasons?
An attentive slave?
You have a gift.
A willful siren whose song
refuses to be hushed –
despite imminent shipwrecks on
despairing shores.
You have a gift.
Others hope and envy -
despise and sabotage.
Lore implies – a given
can be taken.
You have a gift.
Now the waters muddle
And the nights grow noisy.
Steer safely amongst the reef
my friend -
You have a gift.
© 2013 Kim Diehnelt