Make me an instrument of Thy peace,
o Lord, Saint Francis requested.
I often feel like an instrument. Not of peace,
but chaos, incongruity, surreality,
like a delicate, precision instrument
wrongly calibrated from the start;
a faulty circuit, perhaps, a cracked cog;
a sprung spring, a warped wheel
throwing me chronically awry;
failing to read and measure correctly
the world around me; out of balance,
forever teetering, up and down, up and down.
Hard to be happy with constant failures;
hard not to worry, to be peaceful
with the invariably failed readings
of my inadequate, roughly self-adjusting equipment.
O child of God, if it was easy, what a lazy,
complacent scoundrel you would be!