Soon, Sometime

soon, is mother's
usual word for hope
so i may not retreat
and lurk by the dark
corner and weep.

soon when your
papa comes soon
when he is finally
forgiven, soon

when the storm
is over soon when
the house is
again strenthened
by its walls and
scaffolds

soon when you grow
up to be a man soon
when you are big
enough to understand

what really is the matter
why the roof leaks why
the door is always closed
why the glass windows
are misty

soon my son she says
soon you will have stronger
hands to hold on to a
pillar soon my son you
will have a brain that
travels beyond this
trifles soon my son you
will have wings to fly

and soon you will know
that this life is our journey
towards an uncertain
destination soon my son

you will know that you will
always be going and going
and goind soon you will

know my son, that there
is no stopping that there
is only an overlapping

of waves and shore and
waves and shore in the

never ending ebb and
rise of life and death.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!