Into My Own

I memorized this today:

Into My Own (1915)

ONE of my wishes is that those dark trees,

So old and firm they scarcely show the breeze,

Were not, as ’twere, the merest mask of gloom,

But stretched away unto the edge of doom.

I should not be withheld but that some day

Into their vastness I should steal away,

Fearless of ever finding open land,

Or highway where the slow wheel pours the sand.

I do not see why I should e’er turn back,

Or those should not set forth upon my track

To overtake me, who should miss me here

And long to know if still I held them dear.

They would not find me changed from him they knew—

Only more sure of all I thought was true.

Poem: Robert Frost from A Boy's Will

Picture: Jonathan Roberts from a hike to Mt. Humpheys

Faces

This black and white world
Makes middle-gray the foe.

Is it all pretend?
Why not, why not?
I’ll see the blurs as tragedy
And start over.

Flip the canvas.

I am turning.
Running through the fields
again.
The sun is in my eyes,
every shadow behind
The only place I want to be,
I feel.
Jealously.
Do I have to leave?

I am turning.
And there you are again,
The colours of your skin
Spin a collage into the wind,
Our memories break
and fall
In mosaic.
Like your spring dress,
Bright threads
spun from your mother’s heart.
Let’s dance like lovers,
Fingers skip across each other’s lips
My hands are heavy,
They’re throbbing machines
Ready for
Hide and seek.

I am turning.
Don’t ever let go
the dark clouds sweep down to carry
Your heart away from mine.
Don’t let the war take your soul
Don’t the let the sand weigh you down
or
Blind your eyes,
Like back in the burning desert
of your Father’s land
I’ve had enough of His gasoline breath.
We’re never going back.
The dust is owned,
The flame is lit.

I am turning.
Quick!
Cover your face with a smile,
steal every affection
Pin every fickle heart
Fill your cup, let it spill
Over and over,
And over and over.

Father, please?