An Unplanned Siesta

Again, I find myself

Standing at a crossroads,

Pondering directions.

Unsure which path to take.

Should I? Could I? Perhaps?


The sun is overhead.

At the roadside, flowers.

Birdsong lilts from afar.

Wheat heads rustle nearer.


It’s been a long journey,

Full of rush and bother,

That led me to this place.


Beside these thoroughfares

I shall pause, breathe, relax.


There’s time for a siesta.

Honors To an Unworthy Master

In this year, since your passing,

Your son and I have tried our best

To mend the rifts you left behind

When you slipped away in death.


We’ve struggled to craft a fitting legacy

So in your eye, we could stand tall.

Our quest has shed some light upon us

And cast a glow down darkened halls

And yet these chasms defy our efforts

To fill and heal, for good and all.


Yet still, we hammer at that granite

To true the ragged blocks you left.

This working slays my sheathing anger

But your son, seeks on, bereft.

I pray, one day, he’ll strike the facet,

Split the stone, and find his way.


I was not able, while you were living,

To earn that trust I longed to see.

Your son still struggles, feeling keenly,

That worthlessness learned at your knee.


So on, together we labor, brothers,

Striking now, to square our ashlars,

Moving forward. 

So mote it be.