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1word1dayWell, I was planning to change from Sunday posts to Tuesday-ish...looks like I've accidentally managed to do just that.
meed, noun. (archaic)
1. an earned reward or wage
2. a fitting return or recompense
Etymology: Old English med, akin to Old German miata (reward), or Greek misthos (salary)
The idea of a fitting recompense made me think of justice, which reminded me of one of my favorite Babylon 5 quotes:
"You know, I used to think it was awful that life was so unfair. Then I thought, wouldn't it be much worse if life were fair, and all the terrible things that happen to us come because we actually deserve them? So, now I take great comfort in the general hostility and unfairness of the universe." - Marcus Cole
At the end of that meandering mental trip is this week's poem.
Raising Hope
Ground is conceded, one particle at a time:
We wear down the world,
Slowly,
To an inevitable flat of dust,
And in haste make our excuses,
Say we'll do better
Later,
Next time,
Tomorrow.
Our little errors accumulate at our feet
And whittle away our height.
A steward's meed Is to keep his job forever,
To never outlive the need.
So he hopes for a world without justice,
One where we do not pay
Our full measure of consequence,
One where we can rise above small mistakes
And stand tall again.
meed, noun. (archaic)
1. an earned reward or wage
2. a fitting return or recompense
Etymology: Old English med, akin to Old German miata (reward), or Greek misthos (salary)
The idea of a fitting recompense made me think of justice, which reminded me of one of my favorite Babylon 5 quotes:
"You know, I used to think it was awful that life was so unfair. Then I thought, wouldn't it be much worse if life were fair, and all the terrible things that happen to us come because we actually deserve them? So, now I take great comfort in the general hostility and unfairness of the universe." - Marcus Cole
At the end of that meandering mental trip is this week's poem.
Raising Hope
Ground is conceded, one particle at a time:
We wear down the world,
Slowly,
To an inevitable flat of dust,
And in haste make our excuses,
Say we'll do better
Later,
Next time,
Tomorrow.
Our little errors accumulate at our feet
And whittle away our height.
A steward's meed Is to keep his job forever,
To never outlive the need.
So he hopes for a world without justice,
One where we do not pay
Our full measure of consequence,
One where we can rise above small mistakes
And stand tall again.
(no subject)
Date: 2011-04-26 03:57 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-04-26 10:17 pm (UTC)I'm indifferent about the day I post, except that mid-week is slightly better for me than weekends. Maybe I'll try Mondays for a while.
If I slip to Tuesdays, then my next word will have to be "precession".
(no subject)
Date: 2011-04-27 02:14 pm (UTC)