The Invitation
Dust glitters on photo framed
Damsel and dame don’t know his name
He stood alone at tabletop
Best of kin there with him to cater to a forceful grin
Love
I love them all
Oh how many ways they love him!
But one way families lack is in beauty that the eye attracts
Perhaps she could be a salve to his splintered soul
An image of the one who holds the world in His hands
If so, the question then becomes…
When do you stop being one?
Another year two become…
That picture. But you? Without painter
The muse is missing. Your skills?
Lackluster
Timeless tutors yet clock moves onward
Readily do we cast aside the wisdom of an elder life
Or perhaps, they too
are absent
Wristwatch is loose, I want to fill it…
...with strength of arm and right-handed ways
But I’m a lefty, oh no, dismay…
...at what I do fill, my mind of toil yet hands, idle
Work widens the wallet then sets the sun
Muse is costly, alien to mine eyes
she’s difficult to find with unsettled mind
Still, I could be her Adonis
Generosity would be in need to find something of worth in me
Worth wrought through body gruff
Calluses by callousness dawned by difficulty still to come
Establish now what is to be the fruits of they labor
For those who endure until the end
are those who have been made men
Yet made men must not forget
the maiden who lead them away from sin
Her excellence in endurance, assurance of they worth
Not gemstones or jewelry, acts or attitudes, pleasure, or passion…
But every year the two remain that picture
Dust decorates the frame of the legacy left for loved ones
Originally composed 5/2/20 & 6/12/20