Photo by Shamim Nakhai on Unsplash
silver haired man
brother, I hear your hearts song
though martial music fills the air
like thunder it rumbles and shakes the world
there is familiarity here in your words
like the soft sighing of grass
there is a longing, there
the shadows of what could have been
ghosts of ‘what if’ gone silent and still
as your path turned left and you
leaving ‘what could have been’ behind you on the floor
weeping behind their glass wall
winters, oceans, the strangers house
I know these things as well
the hungry, the longing, nuances others overlook
I’ve cast mine eyes there
it’s one thing to view the world
it’s another to inhale it, hold yourself still, and see it
Silver haired man
the hand of God hasn’t been removed
its mark is still burnt onto your being
as now, you speak with his tongue
and notice the infinite in the cracks, pot marks,
and driftwood of humanity
You see the lesser, because you are the lesser
but the greater for it
for the veil has been pulled back
and the truth – that drove priests mad
stands in stark nakedness
exposed this time to eyes that seek to cover
not it’s shame, no
No, what you do isn’t an act of embarrassment
what you do is an act of empathy
you cover it not to hide it from the world
but to protect it, you, us, from the cold
like a good father would