A Man

There was a man.

 

Bright blue eyes

And a ready smile.

 

“Here’s my hand

Let me help you.”

 

A common man,

A man of the earth,

Digging both hands deep into the soil

Every day.

 

An uncommon man,

A hunter,

Fisherman,

Farmer,

Who worked with uncommon skill

And uncommon heart,

Who fought for provision

And shared with every guest at his door.

 

A rock of a man.

Husband,

Father,

Father of fathers

And mothers.

 

“Here’s my hand,

Let me help you.”

 

A life built,

One step,

One step,

One step,

After another,

Always heading home.

 

Rest.

 

I’ll take it from here.

 

Here’s my hand.

Let me help.

 

There,

Right there,

Was a man.

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New Moon

Image

There was a moon in the sky

Before I met you.

I saw it many times.

I even admired it’s beauty a time or two, I’m sure.

 

It’s a different moon now.

 

I look at it,

Shimmering silver,

Holding the inked sky above,

And I know that you’re under that moon,

 

The different moon.

 

Our shared moon.

 

There were stars in the sky

Before you.

 

Stars

And

Evening breezes

And

Waves on a sandy shore

And

Leather couches

And….

 

There was a world

Before you.

 

Dreams

Before you.

 

There was a world before you.

It’s a different world now.

 

An almost exact copy

That suddenly

Includes

 

You.

 

Sometimes,

Something more real,

More true,

More present

Than everything else

Comes to the world

And changes everything,

Pulls everything

Into a new orbit.

 

Suns do that.

 

You’ve done that.

 

Look.

 

See the moon?

Driftwood

Driftwood

Driftwood.

 

I become driftwood.

 

Ocean tossed.

 

Shaped,

Weathered,

Colored,

By forces beyond me,

Forces so vast I only know the faint edges.

 

I saw a horse once.

 

Shaped of driftwood.

Shaped in artistry

To show the essence,

The breath,

The very heart of what a horse is.

Each piece of driftwood fitted together,

Carefully,

Skillfully,

Expressing a thought far beyond

(Far beyond…

Or maybe locked deep inside)

The shape of weathered wood.

 

I’ve been shaped,

Weathered,

Colored,

Seasoned,

By forces vaster than I can know.

Shaped

For a purpose.

Giving life to a thought far beyond

(Or perhaps deep within)

My weathered shape.

 

For that…

 

I’ll be driftwood.