The lightning lights
a rolling plain
of desert sand
and desert rain
as it always was
through every age
acrid air of chapparal
and sweet wet smell
of sage.
Each arcing desert burst reveals
a silhouetted human form.
A young man forging
through the storm,
moving west to east,
he makes his way neath thunderclouds
and lightning bursts that light his way
and thunder bursts
that shake the ground beneath his feet.
A rare and welcome desert rain
the lightning and
the thunder sound
brings trembling to the ancient ground
and washes dust
from sun bleached bones
and lights a rolling boy
and lights his way back home.
Rain and windblown
leaning into life.
Strong and certain of his course,
toward the flaming red horizon line
that dawn has penciled in,
to show the way back to his source,
the dawn that guides a rolling boy
back home.
Yes it's true
he's passed the test
and now heads to his fathers house
to stake his claim
on life anew
to stake his claim
and take some rest.
Such sacred moments of
wonder bound.
The cool wet smell
of desert rain
and sunrise
feeding hungry eyes.
The old man and the young
and the transfer of the wanderlust.
The passing of the torch.
For good or bad
to heal or scorch
no measure yet of wrong or right
not too early nor too late
this rainy night swings back the gate
and for just a moment
freezes time and space
to mark this turning point.
About 4:30
The boy rolled in
The pounding on the door that woke me-
Hey Dad, can you open up
“I don't have my key.
The road warrior troubadour,
at his old pop's desert place.
I focused in my sleepy eyes
swung back the heavy rain soaked door
I beckoned him to enter and
we shared a long and firm embrace,
till we each pulled back but just a pace
and looked upon the others face.
The little lamp on
the kitchen table
lit our pre-dawn chat.
Looked pretty good
I'd have to say
no bruises, blood
or stitches.
I was glad for that.
His first big road trip
road burn eyes,
he tells half the truth
and half the lies.
17 and on a roll
the music whirls
the gorgeous girls
he's gonna set the world on fire.
We spent hours
at that kitchen table
havin' tea and
smokes.
Sharing stories not yet told
exhausted thoughts
and timeless jokes.
The father and the son
both tell the tales
and listen.
And just as best as can be done
one coming in
and one going out
find the places
where they're one.
One extended chain
of life and exploration
one likened to the other.
“Dad I met this girl in San Francisco”
“Dad I wrote this song.”
“Can I play it for you now”.
I gotta get some sleep soon
been on the road so long.
The song is played
and beneath the skin
the groundwork laid
through songs of saintly deeds
and sin, the transfer is complete.
What was once
the old mans realm
is passed along to him.
A new mans path
a young mans dreams
of wanderlust and
a young men's schemes.
The old eyes look upon
the new.
New stories fresh
the laughs are true.
The tales are told
of scared and bold.
And a sadness and a joy,
mingle ever more.
The old man watches,listens
and feels surrender's painful ache,
as the young man
firmly takes the reins
of life and loves
and new mistakes.
New discoveries and
old mistakes made anew,
some as old as time.
Joy and beauty
broken rhyme.
Rights and wrongs
and joyful songs
with all the pains and pleasures.
Some lived short and some lived long
defy objective measure.
Life in all it's wonder,
life sometimes unkind
brought fresh into the present
for a new man to unwind.
Every choice a victory
and every choice a loss.
Each wonder gained
each choice a choice
to pay the cost.
And, experience
the reward.
The time is marked
the time is here
the torch is passed
let go the fears.
The old man hands
the reins across,
knowing that he'll always hear
the tiny voice
that since the dawn of time
has whispered to the inner ear
of every father of every son.
of every father of every son.
Now, today,
and since the very first of yesterday,
A whispered prayer
across paternal lips
and since the very first of yesterday,
A whispered prayer
across paternal lips
“I hope that he's okay”.
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