Self-Portrait-A-Week
Week 13
A subtle something glows out in the dark;
It's barely light enough to catch the eye,
But drawn my gaze is to the shuttered spark,
And deep my spirit probes as I move by.
The lightning flashes high above the night,
A dry and distant dancing mighty show.
The sky has only just relinquished light
Or I'd have missed this quiet subtle glow.
A moment more it would have passed me by,
And my connection to it ne’er been made,
But as its glimmer fastly fix'd my eye,
Upon this distant light my mind was stayed.
A light in darkness here denotes a life:
A human pushing shadows from a home;
A man perhaps with honest thought and might
Who works his food and living from the loam.
In early evening now his day is done,
With quiet rest supplanting sweaty toil.
A hammock sways him as his thoughts still run
Along and through the trees that fill his soil.
The nature of his work revolves and grows,
His final product looping 'round to seeds
For planting o'er and o'er; but so he knows
He's earned his quiet rest beneath his trees.
But vain is light that lights a man alone!
And better would it be for lonely heart
That rattles loud around an empty home
To ponder on his toils in the dark!
This man would never banish night in vain,
And so another life must fill the light;
Two spirits wrapped around and 'round in twain:
A man, a home, a farm, and this his wife.
She even now prepares his favorite dish,
And brings it to the dimly lighted porch.
No shadows there can quell her quiet kiss,
Which lights his world like the brightest torch.
But what is love without its passion's fruits?
And so I know his children 'round him play
And fill with laughter now his quiet roost,
At this the ending to another day.
What more? What stories, bold adventures true
Could fill what lengthy tomes his life has writ?
Alas! As I pass by I wish I knew!
I wish my master Time allowed for it!
I'll never meet this man my path has crossed.
I'll never see his little girl's sweet face.
I'll never hear him voice his pondered thoughts.
The food before him I will never taste.
My home is now six thousand miles away.
Across the broadest deepest sea I fly;
And 'til I die I'll never see the day
I meet the man whose light my eyes descry.
It lingers but a moment as I pass,
And then in blackest black it fades away;
Forever gone to me, and far too fast.
I wish it didn't have to be this way.
See the making of here: http://www.morffed.com/2014/The-Making-Of-Weekly-Self-Port/i-vD8Zp9G/A
