At morning rise

At day’s end

Though marriages crumble

Though forsaking friends should leave you naked

and hungry in tears

broken by darkness

haunted by fears

whispered in ears

by snuggled toothed demons

in the cold of the morning

in the silence of evening

and at the end of a journey

when all you bring home

are the bruises delivered

by a world that alone

never gave pause 

to your impossible dreams

to your visions, to your calling,

your hidden identity,

and so trampled underfoot and then off on its way

left you crushed in the dust, 

in the mire, in the clay, 

and the mud, and the dirt that covers the scars

that remind you of the gap

between the boy that you are

and the man that you hoped someday you’d become






Remember, that you are my son.