poem

Flying Abe // JATW

Fly, My Son.

Flying Abe // JATWFly, my son. Fly as high as you can into those soft blankets.

Today, you are filled with joy. Waking up isn’t hard for you.

If anything, sleep is a hindrance to your precious, wild soul.

There’s so much to learn, and I see it happening on your face.

Both good and bad, scary and incredible, you will learn it all.

In time, my little love. In slow and gentle time.

It’s hard not to protect you from the world. “Why?” You ask.

Because I’ve seen the world. I’ve seen it’s monsters.

And yes, there is so much beauty to celebrate, but the monsters…

They do more than go bump in the night.

And sometimes, the beauty seems lost.

One day you will be a man, we will have taught you how to fight.

To slay the monsters, like you do now, with your costumes and toy swords.

But one day, it won’t be a game.

“Why don’t you want me to grow up, mommy?” You ask.

Because I’m selfish. And I’m scared.

And somehow I love you at the same time.

Today, though.

Today, let’s play.

Let’s pretend you can soar o’er the roof tops like Peter Pan.

Today, you will take pictures.

And we will see the world from your perspective.

You will dance in the living room, and watch cartoons.

Keep flying, Abe. Fly as high as you can.

Today, you are filled with joy.

March Writing Challenge Day 21: ‘Course He Isn’t Safe.

I’ve felt the dry heat of hell

Nipping violently at my heals

On the darkest nights of my barely lived life

When my sin is no longer concealed

Disintegrating right off my brittle bones

Like the rust on an old automobile

Laid out prostrate and not a single tear left

Now the light can finally do a skin peel

Making its way through all the cracks and valleys

Breaking up habits congealed

Finding its way to the root of my mess

A feeling that’s almost unreal

Attacking my sludge-covered heart like an untamed lion

Squeezing that evil until it squeals

Bleeding the death right out of my tendons

The tomb I was in unsealed

Twisting and blending, what excruciating pain

As the lion devours His meal

Torn apart, massacred, and gracefully broken

I am ready and willing to heal.

 

“Safe? Who said anything about safe? ‘Course he isn’t safe. But He’s good. He’s the king, I tell you.”