I hold you, scarred one

as you press against my chest

a John against a Jesus 

a needful youth of twelve

for warmth, embrace, certain

of unpaining love and care

Your bereft hands finger 

those of mine and arms as well  

affirming that flesh's soft 

in a zoo of rhinos on the prowl

You slouch like a new champion 

who's run the course of life 

in want of some elusive prize 

so long slipped from your grasp

But now, for one moment 

however brief or short or long 

your heart has banished panic 

your face bright-full of quiet 

while comforting peace enfolds 

the frantic frame in search of home

You're held secure

i recall the tears of '68 

viewing Pelle and his Fa 

but without mine 

in a theater full and dark

a single beam of images 

broadened wide the silver mind 

'pon which mem'ries drummed 

played in still successions 

as i wiped my tears

each tear's lost remembrance 

fell free from needled ducts 

that rolling into this night 

when dad slips to my mind 

once more

he is here...

yet we aren't...

...the tears having fed 

the growing need of us

*A problem is, more essentially, a unique situation calling for expression.  It calls for a poet, a painter, a composer.  And sometimes in God's providence, we may be that poet or painter or composer.  Each individual situation in our world is an artistic, rather than an administrative challenge.

-Simon Tugwell