The Guru

I spent the weekend with a psychoanalyst - well, couldn't manage the whole weekend to be honest. 

Spent a day with the Guru,

The one who understands,

That mending broken people,

Is an easy thing to plan.

 

He gathers up some stragglers,

The ones who say they’re stuck,

Who attribute to themselves,

All of life’s bad luck.

 

They want to change their fortune,

So that they can move ahead,

And are happy to sit crossed legged,

In a humid, garden shed.

 

He let’s them do the leg work,

While the Guru contemplates,

The nature of their problems,

From his horizontal state.

 

Tells them to make decisions,

Tells them to run the show,

Throws in esoteric questions,

Hints at all the things he knows.

 

Then lies back upon the cushion

As they each bring up their issues,

Knowing that he earns his fee,

Every time they reach for tissues.

 

He hears the same old stories,

Of romance dead or dying,

Of unrequited love,

Of lonely hearts a crying.

 

And he validates those feelings,

Saying let me see your pain,

And the mood it grows quite sombre,

As they each break down again.

 

Soon the Guru is their hero,

With his magical elixir,

Over time they’ll be returning,

To their emotional drug fixer.

 

He’ll encourage all their seeking

Asking them to just prevail,

Suggesting he can help them,

Find their longed for Holy Grail.

 

But the searching lasts a lifetime,

For the words that are not spoken,

Are that even the Guru,

Cannot mend what isn’t broken.

 

copyright@dellareynolds2017