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.