A poem about becoming
Mastermind,
I once was tagged
in my introverted days.
Arranging, calculating,
quietly driven.
Then Field Marshal,
planning, executing,
holding the torch,
urging my battalion
into victory.
Often Fixer,
eager to improve
any situation, to
declaw a beast, and
watch it smile.
Sometimes Seven,
grabbing every
random chance
for growth
to enjoy and share.
Always Educator,
savvy, motivating,
adept at shifting
and modifying
to meet varying needs.
Solutionist
Solving problems,
promoting confidence, success,
most often overtly;
sometimes by subterfuge.
But now, Sage?
“Let it go,” I hear.
“Let God,” they say.
“For we must all
walk our own paths
to learn and find peace.”
Relinquish
those polished roles?
Abandon the gifts
from and back to
our Higher Power?
Easier, I fear,
to transform
a plaid zebra
into
a devout monk.
Yes, I hear the voices.
And yet,
I am silently compelled
to seek and fix
and share the light.
My light.
Some might
call me
Controller.
