BOY UPON THE WAVES

BOY UPON THE WAVES

                                                       

                Tossed upon the waves of sea

                Holding fast to life's last breath

                Rowing strong that all might be

                Delivered from the hand of Death

                This boy who rowed until his last

                He was unknown until he died

                Yet left behind there was a past

                A mother on a shore that cried

                "My son, my cherished little boy

                He left my side so young and quick

                To seek a dream and chase a joy

                But left behind his mother sick.

                "Return to me, my boy so dear

                Let not the sea e'er own your soul

                For she's a pow'r that I doth fear

                She'll take my heart and leave a hole.

                "Remember this, my plea, my cry

                And come straight back into my arms

                And fight for life you must not die

                I pray your soul be free from harms."

                This prayer was dashed upon the waves 

                That battered keel and tore our sail

                And sent this crew to wat'ry graves

                And drove a mother's heart to fail.

                This boy a youth to Sea had gone

                But lane before us in this hour

                Now lies a man for all he's done

                He broke the chains of youth's trite pow'r 

                A silent word let us now pay

                Reminding us of lives He blest

                Beneath these trees in dirt and clay

                His body worn and laid to rest.

NEVER WANTED

 

NEVER WANTED

A bowlful of over ripe bananas sit upon the table browning.

They wilt as the house grows warm with icky heat.

Once each fruit was fresh and golden with bright peels to behold

Now, they are reduced to a sad and weeping, diminishing mess 

They were never wanted.

Placed once as new desirable fruit upon the countertop 

Lain thoughtfully, but now left to rot and be forgotten. 

But, they just won't leave the mind. They stubbornly remain.

The pungent aura of their dying aroma cry out

To your nose to remember them, to not forget them. 

This smell bleeds into the bowl in a visceral ooze of dirty yellow and brown ichor.

They were never wanted.

Tiny flies buzz around the corners of your vision,

Drawn to the forgotten's smell like pilgrims to a futile quest.

They are lost to your focus fleeting away as annoyingly as they came. 

They bring shear pittance of their pathetic worthlessness. 

They were never wanted!

You pass the fruit bowl by, and for a moment are reminded of their onceler's worth.

You forget in that brief second the flies, the stench, the decay,

And think upon their possibilities and purpose that they could serve.

A moist loaf of bread? A decadent aromatic banana cake?

They were never wanted?

But the depressing reminder of your diet and weight now burdens. 

The contemplation of the exhausting time to bake and create overwhelms.

The sweating heat needed from the oven is a sorrowing vision. 

These thoughts cause you to turn away from these fruits forlorn.

They were never wanted.