Norberto Franco Cisneros | + Follow Poet |
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Beyond the Snows of Winter

BEYOND THE SNOWS OF WINTER

You go on ahead, my son,
I’ll catch up with you when the snow reaches the end of winter
You have your life to live and worlds to explore 
Where you are headed I won’t be going

Maybe I will be there in spirit ensconced in your memory
But I will always have the memories we built
The many baseball games you played and starred
Do you recall, I was there for all of them?

There were many pitching practices behind our house
And at Moore Field chasing fly balls I hit to you
I’ll never forget the day we went to Dodger Stadium and saw 
Fernando pitch that perfect no-hitter, remember?

I’ll never forget you practicing the piano 
And how good you were becoming
The teacher said that with practice 
You could become a really good pianist

Those days are in our past
But our story goes way back
The playful reality we enjoyed became a nightmare
And those wonderful memories lie in the dustbin of my memory
 
Our relationship devolved through the years
You're more distant now; a father-son past put away
Never to return, never to be mentioned
Life is not fair they say and it’s true

I only remember the good times of those days 
Our many laughs and slurpees after games
And how you developed into a fine young man
To become a well respected professional attorney

I wish you continued success, my boy
That’s what you have always been to me, my precious child
My pride and joy; you remain so to this day
as you always will

My days have come and gone and I will leave you shortly 
To reach that plateau of respite I direly need
To dwell beyond the snows of winter in my long sleep
Dreaming of what it was and what could have been

I sense Time anxiously counting the minutes, egging me on
The Specter with the scythe beckons with its bony digit
Vigilantly, patiently waiting for my spirit to let go
To join the ethereal collective

Copyright © Norberto Franco Cisneros | Year Posted 2019

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Joe Dimino Date: 3/4/2019 5:13:00 AM Straight from the heart! Very beautiful, and respectful. Sad when we now can only watch them further grow from a distance. I was not a good father--never there for my children...and yet, my daughter (girls seem to see things differently from boys), still calls me to check up on the old man. I have no answers for you. A lot I would change in my own life could I go back. Bless and love him from afar--the soul will always reach him even when the conscious mind is silent. Your poem is great! Login to Reply Norberto Franco Cisneros Date: 3/4/2019 5:09:00 PM Thank you Joe, children turn out the way hey do whether it's our fault or nor. They do grow up with their own minds and often times astonishing us, other times bewildering us and sometimes pleasantly and gratefully surprising us as your daughter. Thank you again for appreciating my words.