The Father

I said I’d like to fly,

but he taught me to love, so I started to soar,

and the sea was spread like buttercream,

a warm pale yellow, crisp and rosy at the horizon,

I told him I was afraid, and he let me go ephemerally,

because he knew,

that the moment I’d been released,

I would realize the breadth of my need,

and come drifting back into that slumber spirit,

I didn’t remember who I was for quite some time,

it was hard to focus on the reality of me,

the me I wanted to be,

humble and contrite,

yet powerful and prepared,

tools were imparted to me in my youth,

but I tried to hammer things with them,

foiled their true intent,

crushed my lover’s heart upon an anvil,

a place of ice and despair,

she begged for a respite,

but I pinned her there with the weight of my hatred,

and martyred her,

what I did with my dove,

then one day,

as I was bleating out again,

I wallowed in my sorrows,

remembered then I one true friend,

the jovial one,

the one with peace written on his brow,

I’d forgotten his name,

like a schizophrenic bull,

he’d yelled out “toro!”

as I ran the other way,

but on this day I came back,

having grown weary and destitute,

I had spoken first to God,

and He spoke to me in kind,

so I asked my friend to teach me how to breathe,

his smile a little wry,

he cinched his lasso on the saddle and paddled out to sea,

I stood there wading desperately,

blades were in my shoulder,

he spoke of truth and winds in cells,

he blew into my ear,

ascending I as if to climb,

I said I’d like to fly.



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