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Father and Son
“Wisely and Slow; They Stumble that Run Fast”
~Shakespeare
Father: “From my youth I recollect a summer nighttime storm
In which the violent bursts of light gave the darkness form.
And now, thinking back to then, what form I can recall,
Brings to mind a violent love whose rise presumes its fall.
For this reckless kind of love, it saddens me to say,
Winks upon the hasty heart, and quickly fades away…
So too, this passing storm, that briefly shows its might
Once gone what have you left, but a cloudy starless night?”
Son: “My father, though mean you well, your words I must deny,
For in my love there are no clouds to block the starlit sky.
And just as men might watch the night to navigate the seas,
I watch my star whose joyful light gives me cause to be.
And since no words devised by man may sway my solar sphere,
Be you well, and bid me well, and trouble not your fear.”
Father: “Son, my ill divining mind can see beyond your heart
To the point of Cupid’s shot and his unreasoned dart.
It knows the truth behind your love, starlike though it seems,
And reveals in Cupid’s art this subtle imagery:
What you call your “solar sphere” will shoot across the sky,
And expose in blazing light the mourner’s question “why?”
So intent where you upon the beauty of its sight
You forgot that falling stars must fade from out the night…”
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Angelic Youth
Today I’ve learned what must be
The likes of immortality!
For heaven could not hold more bliss
Than you and I, a single kiss.
Perhaps you are in part divine
And ‘tis through you that heaven shines…
I do not doubt that this could be,
Though, heaven is a mystery…
Still, in this I know the truth;
There lies in you angelic youth.
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A Girl So Wise Within Her Youth, So Much Adored, So Much the Truth
Oh the sun, if it could shine as brilliantly as you
Would make the race of men on Earth love it as I love you.
And men would smile at the dawn and mourn the evenings end,
And each would have in it a love that none would strive to mend.
For how could one feel guilt in love as pure as each new day?
How could such a love be wrong…? I swear there is no way...
But since I have a single doubt my love belies what’s right,
Let me draw on doubts behalf an artificial night:
Picture this, a lonesome night, whose stars have all but died…
Whose lack of light makes joyful thoughts seem a devil’s snide.
And then, from such a pit of dark is bourn a single star
Whose well aged light took many years to travel from so far.
And so the image of the birth is that of seeming youth,
And yet below that imagery there lies a deeper truth,
My star is aged beyond its view, though its image is unmarred,
And now I can’t conceive a star of equal high regard.
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