Your ways always finds ways to make me smile
To which you are totally unaware.
Your laugh, your voice, the graceful lilting form
That houses your spirit which permeates
It with a buoyancy that defies age,
Your questing, introspective forages
To the deeps, then to the heavens, then back,
Always searching, probing, thinking, longing.
Years ago, living in the present ruled,
A tyrant demanding magic moment
After magic moment, but somehow time,
That slippery serpent which torments us
With its loss, lost this battle and redeemed
You to yourself so you could redeem it.
Your thresholding phase is past. The future
Beckons now, ever present, always pressing
For answers posed to questions imposed by
Those who have no understanding of you,
That delicate, flowering you, unfolding
Before eyes that do not grasp your beauty.
Beauty is but a word; you are but young,
Wanting a world ideal, a world where love,
The ideal word word, predominates
Over all other human impulses
So that the word and the gesture are one.
But the prospect of facing life’s “hard facts”,
Of making a living by giving up
That which makes you breathe and gives meaning to
All you have ever known, daunts you in your path
Of finding your path so you can avoid
The plight of the many who have settled
For finding death in life and life in death.
Your voice is awakening. To others
As well as to self. Let it always speak
Unfettered by convention, but tethered
To the very stars from which our substance
Originates, from whence it will return,
In a pattern nature mirrors in time,
Through the season’s perpetual passings,
Where the old is made new and the new old.
The pattern dances.
Always the same.