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Literature Text
The Mender-Man
Have you ever cast a broken watch into the rubbish bin?
Have you ever gotten rid of a much-used violin?
Or perhaps you’ve done away with a shoe that lost its sole
Wrapped it up in plastic bags and tossed it in a hole
But in your destructive life, have you ever stopped to wonder
What happens to these object that get carelessly torn asunder?
Let me tell you of the place where broken objects go to rest
It’s beyond the craggy outcrop where the eagle builds her nest
West, towards the sunset, over Neverland’s cobalt blue sea
Through a locked, wooden door for which there is no key
Down a ladder-less hole that goes straight through the earth
Out the other side and follow a seventy-mile firth
If all goes well, you will arrive at a valley, vast and sheer
Everything anyone has ever discarded has somehow ended up here
There are mile-high piles of books with lost pages
Microphones and podiums that once stood on stages
An ornately carved wooden cross, bearing our Saviour
Twenty shredded love letters, all addressed to Xavier
A statue of the Angel Gabriel, in all his one-winged glory
A small chip of stone from a house’s second storey
The once magnificent Titanic lies there in a thousand parts
And in the southeast corner, lie 10.5 billion hearts
Behind the chaotic mass of items, stands a table, dimly lit
It is behind this humble desk where the Mender-Man does sit
He mends all discarded objects; one item every day
While, each hour, a thousand more come his way
His face is withered with age and time, yet his mind is still intact
And his ideas make up for everything his body has ever lacked
His eyes are vast chasms of the deepest, darkest brown
And yet he sits in utter modesty, clothed in a sackcloth gown
He never leaves the desk he sits at, not even to eat
With no regard to rest or hunger, he remains firmly in his seat
He has been around since time began, with no intent of leaving
And he will be here to the end of time, giving but never receiving
He restores the heaps of novels, rewriting the missing pages
He repairs stage equipment that has been thrown out through the ages
He patches up the wooden cross, and re-carves the Son of Man
He tapes together Xavier’s letters as neatly as he can
With expert hands he chisels a new wing for Gabriel’s statue
He returns the chip of stone to its house and attaches it with glue
He re-assembles the great Titanic, getting rid of filth and rust
But the hearts lie dormant in the corner, forever gathering more dust
When the time comes for a finished item to leave that peaceful place
The Mender-Man ties it to a red balloon and sends it into space
Once its helium runs out, the balloon will return to the ground
And its goods will reach the earth once more, ready to be found
They will lie any distance from their home, and may or may not return
Whether or not the initial owner finds them, is not the Mender-Man’s concern
They will be recovered by some lucky person, perhaps brightening their day
And however odd the routine may be, it is the Mender-Man’s way
He works throughout the seasons, through sun and rain and frost
And so, through one man’s efforts, we recover all we have lost
Have you ever cast a broken watch into the rubbish bin?
Have you ever gotten rid of a much-used violin?
Or perhaps you’ve done away with a shoe that lost its sole
Wrapped it up in plastic bags and tossed it in a hole
But in your destructive life, have you ever stopped to wonder
What happens to these object that get carelessly torn asunder?
Let me tell you of the place where broken objects go to rest
It’s beyond the craggy outcrop where the eagle builds her nest
West, towards the sunset, over Neverland’s cobalt blue sea
Through a locked, wooden door for which there is no key
Down a ladder-less hole that goes straight through the earth
Out the other side and follow a seventy-mile firth
If all goes well, you will arrive at a valley, vast and sheer
Everything anyone has ever discarded has somehow ended up here
There are mile-high piles of books with lost pages
Microphones and podiums that once stood on stages
An ornately carved wooden cross, bearing our Saviour
Twenty shredded love letters, all addressed to Xavier
A statue of the Angel Gabriel, in all his one-winged glory
A small chip of stone from a house’s second storey
The once magnificent Titanic lies there in a thousand parts
And in the southeast corner, lie 10.5 billion hearts
Behind the chaotic mass of items, stands a table, dimly lit
It is behind this humble desk where the Mender-Man does sit
He mends all discarded objects; one item every day
While, each hour, a thousand more come his way
His face is withered with age and time, yet his mind is still intact
And his ideas make up for everything his body has ever lacked
His eyes are vast chasms of the deepest, darkest brown
And yet he sits in utter modesty, clothed in a sackcloth gown
He never leaves the desk he sits at, not even to eat
With no regard to rest or hunger, he remains firmly in his seat
He has been around since time began, with no intent of leaving
And he will be here to the end of time, giving but never receiving
He restores the heaps of novels, rewriting the missing pages
He repairs stage equipment that has been thrown out through the ages
He patches up the wooden cross, and re-carves the Son of Man
He tapes together Xavier’s letters as neatly as he can
With expert hands he chisels a new wing for Gabriel’s statue
He returns the chip of stone to its house and attaches it with glue
He re-assembles the great Titanic, getting rid of filth and rust
But the hearts lie dormant in the corner, forever gathering more dust
When the time comes for a finished item to leave that peaceful place
The Mender-Man ties it to a red balloon and sends it into space
Once its helium runs out, the balloon will return to the ground
And its goods will reach the earth once more, ready to be found
They will lie any distance from their home, and may or may not return
Whether or not the initial owner finds them, is not the Mender-Man’s concern
They will be recovered by some lucky person, perhaps brightening their day
And however odd the routine may be, it is the Mender-Man’s way
He works throughout the seasons, through sun and rain and frost
And so, through one man’s efforts, we recover all we have lost
You wouldn't believe how long this took me. I was working on it for, like, two months, and I don't know why. Usually it's a matter of sitting down and letting the verse flow through my fingers, but this was quite painfully slow. And its very messy. I think I should rewrite it. Oh, hell no. Why did I even say that? Psh. Stuff that. It can just lie here.
© 2007 - 2024 the-Uber-Cheezgrater
Comments12
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I... I wanna go give the Mender-Man a big hug. Like... seriously. That dude probably needs one.
And I feel that you do too for writing him so prettily.
Lol. Is prettily a word?
And I feel that you do too for writing him so prettily.
Lol. Is prettily a word?