Metaphors

Hopes

When I was a little boy

My parents went out dining,

Came home and left a present by my bed.

A plastic box for pencils,

Bottom blue, the top was clear.

I woke and found it lying

By the pillow and my head.

Every time thereafter

On the nights that they were gone,

I thought I'd find a toy the coming dawn.

But not another thing except a yawn.

Two millenia ago

He walked among the crowds,

Healing, saving, touching.

Then ascended into clouds.

How sweet the taste and memory!

Pardoned from all sin.

The people thought that he would come again.

3-8-14

Metaphors


Free association makes an artist,
Weaving colored threads that make a cloth,
Surviving til succeeding generations
Supplant it with another.  Time's a moth.


3-8-14
 Home


Do I have a home again
Who had none before?
A box with several people in it,
Windows and a door?


People think that love's a steeple
Pointing at the sky.
Love is children crying but
Unable to say why.


Rather they're the lack of love
They do not know they want.
An effigy of mothers standing
Cold and hoar and gaunt.


3-8-14

Together


Once you wanted closeness.
Now you don't.
Once you tried to love me.
Now you won't.


Separated by a wall of stone,
Grasping warmth leaves
Empty death alone.


Nothing's closer to the wind than me.
Shakespeare, Keats and I can hear the sea.


3-8-14