recent ruminations

Fleetwood Mac - Landslide

weekly phone call with the family

i tell my father

i do not know what to be

he says endearingly

do not worry

the world has empty seats

when i met my professor yesterday

she told the class

we were dumb, aloof and lazy

she meant it, 

she was not often inspired

instead, compassion

for our silent, hopeless choir

better to have a hopeful father

for hope requires ignorance often

worse yet for a hopeless professor

for she sees where his hope goes barren

for the child in between;

a constant state of longing, yearning

to be or not to be

that is still the persisting question

child in a sea of children

yes, all children look alike

bathed in the same bathwater

bathed with the soap of heaven's light

clothed in cloaks of linen

lined with red polyester 

child looks forward to the future

child grows

child loses hope,

child loses father.