boy and man
beside the thrusting hips of a mother stands
a child with a warm gun,
toe deep in the warmer blood creek
(flowing from the hips of a mother)
stands the pride of a man erect
in his battle won and lost.
he took the fire from the wanderer’s eye
and used it to light the hearth and tried to be
part of the comfort of the shadows
as they flickered over flat stone and time-worn
trappings of the peaceful,
comforts of the constant.
standing toe to toe-tag
with a naked man
this same boy looked down on
the face of his father,
naked
and unwilling to blink. This same boy
changed, or thought of the girl
his father would meet in paradise—
the fickle dream that leads to lasting love
and everlasting hatred from the mother
of the same boy warm from the gun’s embrace.
Warm from an emotion
too soon for medication.
a script not written, a play not enjoyed
yet to be classified as a danger
to society he strides forth to stamp winsome mediocrity
upon the most yielding
flesh of this world.
a Creature of neither light nor dark.
The son of his own hopes,
The sum of his own nightmares.
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