Thursday, January 01, 2015

What Am I Like? What Have I Become?

"What am I like"? my question asks of those who know me well.
Is what you see what I've always been? Is that what time doth tell?
When I was a child were you there with me to learn the things I learned?
If not, then why do I ask of thee to say what you've discerned?

When I was a teen perhaps you met and knew me in my youth,
and now you can see if my dreams and plans have led me to my truth.
A young married man in new fatherhood -- did you meet me first that way?
When soberness built a fence around the path that before me lay.

A father of children like I'd been was next on the carousel.
Did you know me then when memories of my childhood served me well?
Perhaps we met when my fathering days were spent in labor with teens,
When remembering helped and hindered my role in perceiving what it means

to live in the sixties and not in the eighties -- a contrast oh, so great
yet much of my youth -- recalled anew-- came forth to help relate.
In the middle of life I find myself with askings and replies
so "What Am I Like? What have I become" confronts my inner eyes.

Whatever it was I wanted then when fantasy filled my world,
is now not just a might have been but around me gently curled,
the grown-up manifestation of an acorn now grown tall
with branches broad and leaves of green -- an oak amidst the All.

Virtue in Aging & Childhood Remembered

Virtue lives with you though not always seen
within your mind's eye you ask "Have I been
of virtue, of loveliness, of good report?"
and conscience guilt-ridden spews out the retort.
"You tried once but failed in this part of your plan
to rise to the fullness and honor of man."

What is all this crying lamenting my age
as if life approaches my own final page
still lacking the virtue I once thought I knew
when younger and wiseless without any clue.
In chanting the praises of childhood all clean
I now without virtue seek what might have been.

"But wait," Wisdom whispers, her voice full of love,
"My son it's within you and thrives like the dove
of a peace so eternal, your eyes will not see
how others have judged something formless in Thee.
If you would have virtue, attain it yourself
it's there plain within and not up on a shelf

where you dare not reach out of fear of new pain
you placed it there -- bring it now out once again.
Wear it with honor and joy, Son of mine
it's beauty is timeless and adorns oh so fine
the body and soul of each one of my sons
and daughters within whom my influence runs.

Wisdom is virtue and not free of charge
yet given quite readily with no price too large.
To purchase my gift with your life's precious blood
is to nourish yourself with my life's loving flood
of a knowing and seeing just how things can be
when virtue calls forth all our love plain to see."

Very Married

The full moon shone thru the skylight    
bathing the room in shimmering blue and white.
Engaged in a slumbering dream I heard the cry
of your soul driven by desire.

Knowing somehow that a response to your plea   
lay within my grasp, I felt my dream make room for you.
Deep within slumber I summoned a sonata
to the tips of my fingers and began to play a familiar tune.

But not really the one you wanted to hear.
An agony pierced thru to my vision and I awoke,
finding you writhing in an ecstatic agony.
Now in full wakefulness I understood the melody you   
longed to hear so as to assuage what you were missing.

As a hero faced with an urgent task I turned
and gently moved to the place of rescue,
throwing aside the hot coverings and watching
as the blue and white moonbeams glistened on your flesh.
My fingers warmed to their task and the melody of   
desire became a symphony with purpose.

Again I heard the cry of your soul as the music
began a mounting crescendo. Faster and faster my   
body performed its own tocata in pianoforte.
My face grew hot, my lips moist and
my heart beginning to burn with the familiar need.

A song escaped from your heart and the keening surmounted
the last final cliff before you dove with abandon
into the swirling mist of silver adorning the cascade of water.
Drenched to the core, we listened as the roar of the falls thundered.