Of Life in the Deep Blue

Yesterday, my son had no heart.
His languid philosophy left his lips limp
without ever learning
how to care. How can love fix that?

I saw the same stars, once,
through the hole in my once-apathetic core.
But instead of dwelling, I reached deep
and tore out a reason to keep living. And this filled my hole
with bliss.

My son never held a heart in his hands.
And I never gave him the wisdom to
free himself from feeding on a morbid world.
A good father would have been waiting
to stop and stir the truth in life in his son
without watching him cast out of the deep blue.

I only hope the gods of the tide
on the other side of the surface
can father him better than a broken man.

What You Said

You asked, will you love?

and to love is all you can do

because we are young, going

no where tangible

yet

everywhere within ourselves.

Where will we go next?

We can be legendary.

Let’s forgo our acquiescence.

Let’s resist the dive into the deepest chasm and fill our lungs

with the unknown.

We will exhale no sorrow for never knowing the mundane.

Because life is everything but clairvoyant.

I hope you understand.

I understand.

But where are you?

Without the disease in our dreams

we will forge our pity

and our hope

into heaven. Together.

We can explode from seclusion

and feast our dormant embryonic hands

in all their pride.

We can run from this. To our living chimera.

The soul of a lost man doesn’t beckon, you said

if he instead accepts what is

nature as truth.

And truth is knowing what is right

to be rightful and beautiful.

And what is truly Beautiful?

The line between

Light and Dark.

As An Oak

I’ll exclaim, assure, imply,
Holler, whisper; I’ll maintain
Through illest valleys; gorgeous peaks
“I’ll be here!” I’ll always promise.

When your weary little toes
Can’t grasp the earth to carry on,
I’ll find a snack, or two, or ten,
And shade you from the sun.

If the clouds defeat the sun,
Dowsing, drowning freezing rain
I’ll shelter you and hide your hair
From drenching and cold-catching.

Whenever boredom threatens you,
Whoever woos or beckons you
To fates less favorable than your dreams,
I’ll brandish guard; defend you.

And if, in the years to come, if
The skies bleed brown with poison,
Fear not, because I’d even die
To keep your breathing clear.

All I ask, my One, my Ever After,
Is when I pass, to plant my dust
Beneath a sturdy, gentle oak
So I may keep my promise.