Plea to My Son: Wisdom Living

So many times in life I thought I knew what was best
And I wore the vest of pride in stride with arrogance,
And I tried with all of my might to make it all so right
Only to fall into the dark night of the soul with a hole
In my heart and my mind bound against sound reason,
Collapsing into an awful season of tumultuous unrest,
And all the while there were blessings untold for me
That I could just barely see in the distance but would
Not touch in my insistence to forge ahead with plans
Of my own that were sown in isolation and darkness;
And, oh, how I wish now that I could go back and bow
To sense and sensibility, to rewrite my past in lasting
Joy and peace with a new lease on life . . . but no, son,
This I cannot do and so I sue myself in the court of life
So rife with pain and such little gain from such insane
Decisions and I hold my history in derision, my child;
So I say to you, do not walk the same path I’ve walked,
But be sober-minded and clear-headed and do pray
Before you say what you think you want and then leap
Without looking! Read the book of your own father
To learn and burn not with zeal but hear without fear
Wise counsel offered and open your eyes to see gifts
Already bestowed in your life and do not thrown away
What has been so freely given to enliven your fantasy!
Sense and sensibility under the cover of prayer, my son;
Take the higher and better road; yes, the better road!

So Soon to Fly Away . . . But Comes the Day

There comes that time for birds to away-fly the nest,
And this is best as the Creator provides for maturity
In the surety of independence in security of the self
After being brought the necessities of life for a time
And taught the ways of night and day in this world,
But, oh, how hard for papa to let go, as the bard tells:
He would practically sell his soul to keep them home
And he could write a tome of all of the reasons why
They are not quite ready to fly away into sunlit day;
Instead, he sheds many tears and lets go of his fears
As he promises always to be near when if need calls
And they’re about to fall, but there is yet a farewell
The pain of which only parents can tell . . . farewell;
Not that they will not see them again as time spins,
But it is different — a sort of reverent suffering —
As the new birds fly high into the sky as papa sighs:
He once flew to that altitude with confident attitude
And an healthy amount of gratitude to his Maker . . .
Ah! But is his offspring not now flying higher than he,
And is it not supposed to be this way . . . yes, this day!
And so the generations pass with lad and lass gone
While the next one is given birth on this age-old earth
. . .
So it is and so it shall be

Ma’at and the Pyramid of Truth, Part IV

Ma'at2Through mist and bogs, and numinous fogs
Ma’at led me from rattle of recent battle
And prattle of lies to the city of Seattle,
Again donned for place in this space of time;
Regained my composure with closure of lips
Upon lips, tightly pulling us hips to hips.

“I want to show you this, so you will know,
And grow more in maturity, wisdom, purity
And self-surety; for there is no need here
To end your life to end your strife, love;
For in the Abyss there is no peace and bliss,
But greater pain, famine; you’d be a gamin.”

“Look here through this drear avenue window,
And what do you see?” Obeying, I cut a glance
Through the smut covered glass and saw a lass,
Curled alone in the corner of a gloomy room,
Holding her doll like some sacred shawl, crying;
“She has no papa to care, to bear her life.”

Tears rolled down my face; I thought I’d drown
In sadness; “And mama works through the trauma,
And cannot stand the demands she understands
In caring for this child, so mild, so innocent;
Can you see, dear man, that you can be father
To one of these; to fill and please their hearts?”

Another twist and twirl, hurl from place to place,
And we were on a sidewalk, busy and loud with talk;
“Do you see the street urchin, no shoes for feet,
who’s been beaten, cheated, and ere so mistreated?”
I nodded, prodded, “Has the child no where to go?”
“Maybe a father to gather and slather him with love?”

Yelling loud, obnoxious, from proud-suited, ugly man;
Young lass, head hung, silent tongue, clearly stung:
“How damn stupid can you be? You see I’m slam busy!
I don’t have time to look for you in some pop-shop!
No damn brain, you drain me, and strain my nerves!”
Father, yes; papa, no. “Do you see what you can be?”

Ma’at wrapped me in her strong arms, free from alarm,
EyeAnd gently whispered intently, “You have been freed
To meet great need, my love; for there are so many
And any would be thrilled to have your warm affection,
And projection of love in real relational connection;
Rejected by your own, you have not been thrown away!”

Another kiss and tighter squeeze to ease my heart pain;
“You are flowing along the third stream, and growing,
Not blown off course, but shown new ways for new days;
Remember long ago, I told you this is the Third Dawning;
Ah! yes, you remember the December night dream-vision…
You are interlaced with grace that flows at peaceful pace.”

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Trail of Tears Left Behind

old manSome of us live and leave behind a trail of tears,
No matter how much we love those near and dear;
We struggle forward, but onward on downward slope
With no hope of upward climb to hear the chime
Of love, peace, and life-success to cease the pain
And break the chain that binds us down, and blinds
Us to any hope, so we no longer have desire to cope.

“Best Daddy in the World” now putrefies with lies
Told by vipers, soul-snipers, and dæmonic pipers;
And all memory of affection, protection, direction
And every expression of love flies out the window
As morbid deception conquers truth ~ no conception
Of reality ~ and we are left bereft of any reason
To live, to strive to thrive; we have been deprived.

Once father and mother, but don’t bother; it’s over!
Rules change and so has the game; it’s not the same;
Nobody quite understands the deep pain of betrayal
Nor comprehends the acid rain of simple endurance;
Ball and chain drags you further into black moraine;
Grave ready, soul steady, your heart already buried;
Apple of God’s eye? Rotten now and long forgotten.

lonely-manOr is there another turning on this burning journey?
Or yet another tourney in the flurry and hellish fury
Of this existence called life; reason for persistence
In moving on yet further to perjure oneself in torture,
Or make fine departure like arrow from skilled archer?
Will there yet be another chance to dance in delight
Through the day and night in sight of heavenly angels?

Some of us live and leave behind a trail of tears,
No matter how much we love those near and dear…
As they turn away, say no word to hear, no smile
For the miles they now leave between their life
And yours, despite tears cried and all you’ve tried,
Prayers you’ve prayed, and the pain you cannot hide;
All seems at an end … but is there another bend
In the road that still lies ahead, still to be tread?
.

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