At morning rise
At day’s end
Though marriages crumble
Though forsaking friends should leave you naked
and hungry in tears
broken by darkness
haunted by fears
whispered in ears
by snuggled toothed demons
in the cold of the morning
in the silence of evening
and at the end of a journey
when all you bring home
are the bruises delivered
by a world that alone
never gave pause
to your impossible dreams
to your visions, to your calling,
your hidden identity,
and so trampled underfoot and then off on its way
left you crushed in the dust,
in the mire, in the clay,
and the mud, and the dirt that covers the scars
that remind you of the gap
between the boy that you are
and the man that you hoped someday you’d become
remember…
remember…
remember…
Remember, that you are my son.