David Smalling | + Follow Poet |
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For M.A.S.

I watch the calm water ebb and flow 
Like time trickling at my naked, tired feet
I feel the passing of things I know
And my heart is bereft with love's defeat
You felt the tug of the wind and left me
Before I was willing to let you go
And there is only a brown stain to show
An empty carpet gaping up at me.

Mikhail, again and again I dream
If only I had done this, or that way
Think, or day light gave me just a gleam
Of your fate that I could cause disarray
To whatever purpose made this divide
And made a father suddenly so gray
And dim the light of hope's forever day
While sorrow ebbs and flows with gall and tide

My son, my son, deaf the ears of life
And mute eternity when now I call
How sharp in me turn and turn the knife
How helplessly a young fruit may fall
And leave a barren tree, or gnarled my heart
Most of all, with all your rich prospects gone
Nor any to replace you, my dark dawn
Begets the thorn and life just falls apart.

So the little scholar is no more
My science genius, my business star
No longer races me to the shore
Or play here, or write the healing of scar
And shame against a race most noble name
Like morning mist vanishes with the sun
Or grass or flower when their time is done
So went you from me, and I'm not the same.

Your heart was my heart and we were one
You were my only castle against the cold
Your dream was my dream, you were my son
The giver of mirth to the fractured fold
You made the world believe, and love endure
What right that death should take a life so young
Or fate keep silence now with barren tongue
Or we no better than leaves I stand among?

Did God breathe breath in dust just for this
That I once born forever dies, and dead
Cancel his purpose, do we exist
Like a game played, like a bright dream fled
Which neither reason nor scheme can recall
And like the leaves that shrine my dusty feet
Forget you only when I rot complete
Or must we pass before to hear his call?

Death is so vulgar, death is so rude
Death is so brutal and parting us vile
To dare on our sweetest times intrude
And make us common mulch in common soil
Even my boy, my pride, my joy aflame
The one at trumpet blow I wait to see
Death took you, and nothing shall comfort me
Except to hear the angel call your name.

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