To Keep One's Treasure Protected Analysis

You may have heard of the “Six Degrees of Separation” theory, which states that every person is connected to every other person through just six other connections. For example, a certain individual is assumed to know at least 44 other people, and since each of those other people know 44 other people, it can continue through six ‘degrees’, which in total makes 7.26 billion connections, more than there are people on earth today. While there are flaws in this theory, the underlying message remains; humans all around the world are connected to each other, whether it be your next door neighbour, or the Queen of England.

“To Keep One’s Treasure Protected,” by Stephen Dobyns is a relatable poem outlining the importance for individuals to make deeper
The author explains that it seems as though some individuals would rather live separated from the rest of the world, and who live their life never knowing anyone except themself. The author encourages the reader to go into the world and do everything they can, and to help, sing and develop relationships with others. No one can be entirely complete by themself, humans were created with a sense of and a yearning for community. Humans communicate through various platforms and methods, and more ways are becoming possible through the advancement of technology.

I never expected it to be like this. So desolate and hopelessly alone. The stinging smell of bleach and the metallic taste in my mouth leaves my mind numb. I glance to the clock, and I am pained to see that only two minutes have passed since I last checked. He should be here by now, but I am not surprised that he isn’t, punctuality has never been one of his strong suits, although I had hoped he would understand the importance of this moment. Frank was a good man, I didn’t doubt that, but he did have his own way of dealing with
I would overshare to whichever unfortunate employee had to ring me through at the store, and could never shake the sense of disparity I felt deep in my chest. I grew older faster than I could keep track of, and soon Frank had moved out to Colorado to pursue his education. He wasn’t interested in staying connected with me, no matter how hard I tried, and his visits home for the week of Christmas were quiet and uneventful. As the years went on and he started into his career path, his week at home grew shorter and shorter, until all I could count on was a phone call Christmas morning, which lasted all of about two minutes. Henry was unaffected by the lack of his son’s presence, and this caused me to feel even lonelier as I was bewildered by his lack of interest in both his son and his wife’s lives. And now here I am, seventy eight years old, a widow, silently trapped in my own mind, unable to escape and living off the machine that breathed for me. The hospital room is empty, except for a small hanging calendar and a chair pushed into the corner, the sounds of the machines echo rhythmically, although the room was small it sounded like a