The Bubble

"The Bubble" was sparked by a conversation with a young man with a very good heart. We were speaking of why acceptance into a group can be so difficult for someone outside the "circle." As we talked, the circle became better described as a bubble and hence, this poem.

There are bubbles we all live in - through out our days and nights
They protect our view, our scenery - of life, love and our plights
As sunshine splits into its parts - as through a prism lens
Our view from through our bubble’s wall is colored and depends

Upon our past experiences, upon our hopes and dreams
Upon the dad who yelled at us, upon our childish schemes
Upon the loves we’ve won and lost, upon the Grandma who
Loved us unconditionally, perhaps an aunt or two

At any rate, to know this, is vital to our task
Which is to be a caring one - to look beyond this mask
For this is what that bubble does. It masks our view of things
Protects us from – or so we think – life’s door dents and its dings

There is danger there - within that thought - of remaining so aloof
From all the pushes and the shoves - that man who’s such a goof
There’s richness in a fabric - as defined by complex weaves
To shield our eyes inside our bubble - akin to fine meshed sieves

To filter out the pulp - the meat of fruit so lushly grown
Left only with a distillation - a yard that’s freshly mown
Neglects the body of the fruit - the grass that holds the life
‘Tis better to have loved and lost. ‘Tis better to face strife

So Lord, I pray thee, please burst it now - and never to return
Within the confines of that orb - and leave to me discern
The fullness of your sunlight - the depth of your love sown
The widest view of your great gifts - your fabric fully known. ©