Hopefully

My first son was perceived as a blessing. Conceived in a rest stop on Memorial Day

My second was perceived as an accident. Conceived in our bed when we were less than half awake

And my first son has a mind like a dagger. Sharp and silver and piercing deep beyond the skin.

And my second has a soul like the morning. Cold yet warming like it's shining through the trees 

    in the winter

          when the leaves are wearing thin.

But they both, someday, will be so much stronger than me.

And they will have to help an old man into bed and from his knees.

Where I will leave this life with family standing over me.

My brain is perceived as "creative". Making words do tricks like acrobats on a trapeze of complex human thoughts .

And my brain reminds me everyday of the tears that I've made fall and the hurt that I've brought.

And I've been told that every brain has two halves and that the left is used for calculating as being bright.

And although I know that both are strong in me I tend to always choose the right.

But they both, someday, will be so much stronger than me.

And they will have to help an old man into bed and from his knees.

Where I will leave this life with family standing over me.

Well your hands were made for painting and for planning and for writing down your dreams.

And your hands are used for holding me close no matter how distant I may seem.

And your hands are made for making sense of numbers that your left brain understands.

And I know you have a beautiful heart because it gives life to those hands.

But they both, someday, will be so much stronger than me.

And they will have to help an old man into bed and from his knees.

Where I will leave this life with family ...

 ... hopefully.

Unnerving Tone

What if I told you that I wanted to make music for a living?
Going out into the country and deep into the cities. Sleeping in the car and living off charity.
Would you follow me?

What if I told you that I have trouble believing in anything?
That the hopeless romantics and theologians and poets did nothing to alter my dreams and philosophies.
Would you still believe in me?

What if I told you that I rarely feel like I make the right decisions and I'm likely to second guess everything?
That my confidence  is a hook dangling out in the sea on a line called deception and the first man to walk across water will likely walk all over me.
Would you look out for me?

Or would you go?
Would you flee my unnerving tone?
There's probably not much that I know
but I know you'd come home.

And What if I told you that there's more than one person I'm okay with growing old with?
Would you punish me?
I know you've felt that way before but I've seen you shut your heart off and it's something I could never do.
So don't judge me too harshly.

And what if I told you that without you I'd die?
Would you laugh at the metaphor and call it "a lie"?
Or would you understand the imagery, the death that I am,
The destructive capability of a pitiful man who's judged fairly.
You could help me.

But if you go.
If you flee my unnerving tone.
There's probably not much that I know.
But I know you'd come home.