Compromise
A voice deep down inside says,
Do this.
It’s my soul speaking.
I reply,
Do what?
I rarely get anything more
than partial instructions,
and maybe the remnant of a dream
from my soul.
Yesterday,
as I drove away from my responsibilities,
I realized I’ve viewed every big decision
as zero-sum.
Today,
I woke up on my knees.
The river outside my window
sits still and serious.
On the murky water,
the world is upside down and blurry.
Next door I hear a harmonica.
It’s my soul again:
There’s always a compromise.
“Tolerance, compromise, understanding, acceptance, patience - I want those all to be very sharp tools in my shed.”
This poem was written on April 12, 2023.
©Brian Mueller - All rights reserved.
