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 power 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

 

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.