A Pang of Conscience

written in 1985, remembering an experience from college days in the 1960's.

 

Today I stayed home with a miserable flu,

bundled from neck to knee.
I figured:  “While I have the time
I’ll read some poetry.”

I set the Kleenex by my side,

I brewed me up some tea.
I took a drowsy pill to dull
the aches and sniffling,
and surrounded myself with “forgotten lore” –
Tennyson, Poe, Shelley.

With books of lore stacked round my couch,

and one propped on my knee,
I “wandered lonely as a cloud”,
and yearned with Ulysse’
This excuse to abandon my daily chores
seemed especially sweet to me
as for the poor Prisoner of Chillon
I wept in sympathy.

Perusing through The Best Loved Poems,

I dozed through half a day,
innocently drifting, unaware
of what lay in store for me.

When into my languidly idling mind

bolted forth a suppressed memory . . .
like molten hot ash, it burst like a flash –
and burned a hole in me.
I was so surprised, my eyes opened wide
as I flooded with agony.

My cheeks blushed read as I recalled

each scene, greatly detailed –
the way I looked, the risk I took,
the motive it entailed.
My stomach turned.  I swooned and swayed
as though I’d been impaled.
My fever rose.  My speech was slurred
as attempts at denial failed.

My book fell from my weakened knee

as I pronounced myself “guilty”—
Nowhere on earth that I could flee
to evade the truth, now clear to me.
I sunk into shame, denial and blame.
“That can’t have been done by me,
No! No!
That was not done by me!”

Had I ever been so great a fool?

So out of harmony?
I could not bear to realize
some wrongs can never be released.
(Glad those people now are gone
and hopefully don’t remember me.)

Had I ever been so full of pride

that anyone could ever drive me
to a state of insanity where
I could act so rashly?

T’was Lady Luck who intervened . . .

and she alone had saved me.
There were no bullets in the gun
but I had pulled the trigger.

I could have faced the gallows then,

or spent my life in prison,
instead of as parent, teacher, spouse,
living in proud dignity.

This pang of conscience struck so hard

it broke my fever free.
I upped and dressed, and fled the house.
“Twas gladly back to work with me.

I spend my waking hours now

in reverent humility.
Appreciating every step I take
in free activity.