Some time near the end of his twelfth year or the beginning of his thirteenth year my son Jon wrote this poem. He shared it with me this week, and I now share it with you.
The Flower of Desire
Reality sometimes can just be so absurd
a life is often thick, but can just contain a word.
I thought I want and need
so many things indeed.
But a single thing I could never reach
a flower worthy of none but love to reach.
The flower that colors my life with arms we much admire
bought with luck and truth, is the flower of desire.
To be watered with water from the stream near a path I have not
chosen.
This is why my flower would be much more lost than I
if I kept it in my heart to comfort my every sigh.
Dried and close to death is what my flower is without
another heart that's just as filled with doubt.
Together we would cancel out
and never again would I pout.
My path would be deserted
as with its opposite
But in the middle, hand in hand
our path will be lit.
The shoes would fit perfectly,
but my heart is much too sad, you see.
If it turns out again just me
my flower once young, an old and dying tree.
The candle blown out would be
with traitor feet my guide.
How can I truly see
that I can never hide
Mere toys in a dream put here by some sadistic host
a grinning eagle to tear me from my post.
The alarm would blare
I believed this for so long
If gone is the pair
containing our loving song.
The notes and words in every heart but mine
forced to share the contract that only I did sign.
My hope so cold and lost
but still just as needed.
Taken as cost
AND I WILL NEVER BE THE SAME.
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