It came upon me in the haze of days and thoughts and cares.
Oh, portion of a heart belonging to my son, my boy, we must meet.
I must, we must see you together, oh, thing so insufficiently called… the future.
Ten years like a hundred kept when wells are dug so deep and filled with waters many never find.
Ah, I the fitted guide, the father having in former years peered down with light held bright
And still with naked eye could never see far… down… enough.
And so, though sitting in my ivory day-to-day I walked the winding stairs
And ventured to the forest to the realm of child no more;
Yet evermore a child would lead a child unto the world of men;
Or to plainly say, as plain men may… I prayed!
Unravel now that mystery that only Thou could see.
Unlock that which both within and out none could ever truly open.
Yes, in one hollowed holy space and place, protected by Thee there,
Allow that little child within to step without the shades of doubt and reticence;
Spurning the womb called silence; forfeiting the dark for that miraculous moment;
Born out in the heat of light, the joy of sight! Reveal! Revealed! In view.
And there to make a mockery of those who seek to quell the storm of holy purpose
And plans held in thine unseen vestment, there close to thy heart.
There from the pages of time untested and yet full proved
Reveal that revelation revolved aligned with that one soul that this one soul
Within the ever multiplying trillions of that great never ending scroll. Eternity!
Prophecy! Prophecy! Speak through man in man to man as Thou art wondrously want to do,
Seal prophesy within a coffee shop between a simple father and his son,
As we do a mighty thing. We look to Thee!
And so it was. I heard saw experienced things from my son I never knew were there.
Within that river we call memory, I shall ever hear,
“I have a complicated mind and I must daily apply it to things more complicated than it.”
“No offence. Writing is not complicated enough for me. I must have more.”
“I need a challenge; something high where I will reach higher than other men.”
“This is no little thing with me. This is what I intend to be.”
Of deeper things we spoke that night;
That night I shall remember still, sixth day of this month April,
Night of my paternal thrill, the night that my son, Abel,
Pledged to me for certain that he would be the greatest surgeon.
Heart surgeon. And I the poetic paternal parent pause…
For outside the world of literature, what could be more poetic than that?
Written by Abel Prudhomme, 4/8/16