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(looking out)
It's one of those hushed days,
when raindrops silently
gather in puddles
which whisper invitations
of solace and reflection
to searching eyes,
peering from windows
in warm silent wombs.
Or tombs.
I'm not quite sure yet.
(looking back)
Every time I see you smile,
I smile back like it was yesterday.
You, still in your childish muscle flexing pose,
knowing how very well I would approve of these antics.
Knowing how very completely you owned my heart,
knowing it was yours to do with as you willed,
even then,
and you only five.
But never were you easily unkind to it,
and never willingly.
Only as you grew up a man and it was either, in your mind,
be that man or be another.
Times you had to be true to yourself
and not to my visions for you.
Those times hurt,
but we all choose them,
we all must,
ourselves over our fathers.
My heart you held son,
and the tenderness and thoughtfulness
with which you held it,
amazed me then,
amazes me now,
and I am forever in debt.
(looking for)
It's been a cold winter,
cold and wet.
With rains' sad dronish pattering.
Too cold to stand in,
too quiet not to enjoy,
too empty to care.
Cold rain doesn't raise up flowers,
it simply washes away the very promises it brought
but could not keep.
------
Robert J. Hall, thankful "Pa" of Kev and Dave.
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Good bye to Lit.org and 2 poems
