Frame Of Reference

Written by: Keith Bickerstaffe

...for my father

As I strolled through my hometown 
I saw the players who possessed me, 
who beat me down and held me up, 
who tickled me and trounced me, 
formed and shaped this neophyte. 

Full aware of their manipulations, 
stations of the Cross, or as temptations 
for transgression, they were my lifelines, 
baiting me, or bonding me to morals, 
some would stick, and some would splinter. 

Too soon my father passed away. 
Oft I'd meet him as I wandered, 
a more than welcome wraith, 
we smoked cigarettes and chatted, 
solid body, apparition. 

Significant exchanges, the channels 
of his wisdom broadened those 
of this young child, and I expanded 
'til perspective took its hold. There will 
be more, 'til I am singular and bold!