The Big Picture

I was clinging
to the inside
of my shell –

your voice said
come on out
all shall be well.

I believed,
and when I did
immediately
I was rid

of the heavy
weight I’d known
all my life,
which I’d called home.

I looked around.
I was alone.

Then wings swooped
out of the sun:
I sensed a presence –
refuge, none . . .

While the beak
broke my eyes

your voice said

though I sympathise
I can’t intervene,
and strange to tell
it doesn’t matter –

all shall be well
if not for you,
for someone else:

my job’s the Big Picture.

Tom Vaughan

If you have any thoughts on this poem, Tom Vaughan would be pleased to hear them.