Once upon a time
my ancestors walked this Earth,
procreated and died.
Now I am here –
a relic of their foibles;
And when I’m gone –
if things were right –
I’d too be passing something on.
But as it is –
I’ll have to focus on what was or is
since the future seems to be going wrong –
You called me forth
and I stumbled out
into this light
that blinds me.
“Well, here I am –
what is it that you wanted out of me?
Not what you get?
Well, here I stay
mindful of the glares
that no-one dares
aim at my face
If only they could see my mind –
there’s truths in there they cannot face –
And so he died
who, having lived so long,
had buried so many others
and never cried.
And so we stood there
powerless for words.
A person lost, indeed,
but memories and stories
so much more importantly
that day as well were buried.
And so we wept – some of us –
puny humans with no powers
to stop this erosion
of collective memory –
And so we buried him
who had outlived so many
but who was recalled in the end
all the same.
He never told us of his thoughts
so they have all been lost.
The wreaths laid out,
the coffin so white
it blinds on sight.
Or perhaps it was the light
in the chapel
that hurt my eyes.
The tapestry at the altar;
interwoven roots –
left in the room now
root cut offshoots –
Your parents are a fortress
that serves a dual purpose:
or to incarcerate –
Your family’s your country
for better or for worse,
whether you would like to stay
or wish to escape –
You’ll carry these with you
wherever you go
whether or not
you want it so
When I was born, I guess nobody knew
that I was born to be an artist too –
for when it was announced much later on
my parents answered little else than scorn –
I stretch the boundaries I am confined in –
I have to, if I’m even to begin
expressing what I sense around me – I am free
from expectations born by anyone but me –
However nice it would be once to hear
appreciation from my source of being, it is clear
that what I am I have become alone
and what I do I must do on my own –
So here I am – a changeling I guess,
who didn’t quite fulfill my parents’ wish
(whatever else they wished their only child),
a failure, such I guess they’ve got me filed –
Yet who are they to blame or who to cry;
I cannot be another than this “I” –
whatever else they may have wished of me,
delusions were on them, never on me