Heirs Apparent

Misty Mornings ~ Brent Harris

Misty Mornings ~ Brent Harris

All the things I might have done, or seen, or known
All the beings I might have been, become
While strolling along a quiet esplanade
The mottled green sea sparkles blue, white
A painter hoping to capture this moment
Holds tightly against a suddenly boisterous wind
Checking the time on an antique pocket watch
His great grandfather’s according to family legend
He adds quick strokes to capture
This golden afternoon as it runs before the storm
Mayhap, he is, I am the storm from which it runs

Dark clouds glower upon the horizon
A brooding monarch’s tempestuous visage
As the intemperate wind gusts, dances
To cry warning, coax a sunny royal smile

We are not amused, methinks, despite capering hijinks
Hopefully then, I am deemed amusing
Playing the part, this time, of the frolicsome court jester
Though I realize I may only be the fool
Excited, I hurriedly scamper to seek shelter
A playful, unkempt shaggy dog
Rapidly rotating tip to tail to shed unfallen rain
From moisture-pregnant clouds
Before their water breaks, cascades
Across the ground of earth, engendering life
Bright green shoots, the fecund, messy growth of Spring

Could I have been this rain, these shoots
In some unremembered past or future
Radiant sun, bringer of life, possibility
Reflected from wave tips, reflecting eternity

Am I of the men who march stately, in ordered rows
Uniformed and uniform, die-stamped in their legions
The numbered columns on the financier’s ledger
Whether soldier’s kit or crisply-pressed business suit
Coveralled laborer or defeated sales professional
Traveling wearily across this wide, weary world
Along its crumbling highways, uncharted byways
Forgotten, but in no way unknown
Harboring hidden hamlets, hopes and dreams
Where truth be not only found but also known
Over a morning breakfast’s toast and omelet

Will I last beyond the space of time
Continuing in unending continuum
First hint of perfume in a newly bloomed rose
Tottering steps or mewling cry of the newly born

Am I a mother’s pride, a father’s love, successful and content
Or do I lie broken, sprawling headlong in a filthy gutter
Reeking, confused and staggering, cynical with hope
A long forgotten teacher who enriched our days
Neglected and calumnied, foolish to believe
The pulpit pounder or compassionate shepherd
Bigot, blasphemer, brawler, backstabber, bastard
Weak folk who have never offered any help or harm
Yet could not escape retribution
Though the meek may one day inherit the Earth
The Earth may not survive to inherit them

One comment

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