The Pyle Inside

They choose only the most compassionate,

Of which I am one.

To carry the quiet village,

That smells of stone walls and rum.

For on the day I was given life

My heart became a light,

They call me one of the bright,

One of the reasons we’re here tonight.

They choose only the most resilient,

Of which I am one.

To keep the village lit and working,

For we are unworthy of the sun.

To stride across the farmers’ fields,

To let the musicians, repair their guitars,

To help the black smith in her shop.

To keep company to the stars.

The farmer asked me to his field tonight,

For he could not harvest alone,

The soil turned many times over,

Felt cool on my bare toes.

For hours we sat in the field,

I told him stories while we worked.

About a time when fire gave one light,

At that he tiredly smirked.

And when our hands were raw and our eyes were heavy,

I bade the farmer goodbye.

But as I went he asked something strange,

He asked if I though it right,

That I alone must be stretched so far,

Being one of the bright.

I looked at him a while,

Then eyes closed, whispered to the sky

“I vowed lead my people,

I ensure my people live,

But it’s true sometimes I wonder if they take

More than I can give.”

They choose only the most obedient.