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| Father and son |
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It’s dark, it’s late i cannot hesitate. We’re born, we die in between we try. We shift, we sigh we change the way we lie. . . . and all the while a pain. All the while the pain. i feel Life’s rumble in my chest, and dying fumble for a mirror to reflect. i dance and jump here in the dark, for Morning’s light imagined, warm and stark. And down deep, they bloom, they wing. but on paper the petals, and feathers fall to burn and sting. i long to feel together— the ice . . . and the sun. —their prodigal virtue, to let them be one. Eyes gaze deep— the Father and son to see themselves, . . . in the other one. |
This poem is © copyright by mark macdonald
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