Clouds painted bright against a blue wall. Children to dance. Legos to fall.
My son stood strong to defend his blockade, to stand straight and tall, never to fade.
“MOUNT UP!” He called, and it echoed the halls, to closets, to bathrooms to pantries, to walls.
“MOUNT UP, I SAY!” another loud gong. Yet, no one took stance no one stood ‘long.
He dropped his head low to disappointment and shame, to deny the absence, the silence, the pain.
The clouds didn’t move. The wind didn’t blow. The breeze was a painting – never to flow.
The dreams, the eyes, the thoughts from afar were pigments on brushes pulled from some jars.
“What’s the problem my boy?” I called from my room. The distance was short but the question did loom.
Silence drew from so far away, like a suspenseful relief in a Shakespearian play.
I waited a second, a minute, a day, but the response was not there no matter, no way.
“Bubba?” I called in a pitiful cry, was met with his eyes that seemed to say, “Why?”
Why so alone? Why so away? Why in THIS house do we have to stay?
I looked in his eyes and then to the floor. I couldn’t admit I knew something more.
The day had gone long and the night soon arrived. I feared for his soul, his heart and his mind.
I set down my suit coat, the armor I wear, and on a cold bed, joined in his stare.
“Simon, my son, now is the date. For somewhere needs help; someone needs faith.
Hearts walk on glass through troublesome past, and you are the light; a star shines at last.
The angels have blessed one single child with the power and strength, though one once so mild.
With a kiss and a breath and a push from their heart, the angels instilled unique follicle art.
So, today, my son, the one I love, they give you a gift – given to one only savior, a singular dove.
Step away from the fear and the the thoughts that can scare, and look at the kiss from above, in your hair.”
Wake up form your sleep, my dear, little boy. It’s time to revel in your God-given joy.
Take from your dreams the burden of day, the thoughts and the fears, the life in your way.
Take from your heart the blind, the night. Welcome the vision and God’s given right.
Simon, my son, now is the hour. Become Simon Star, the dream that you are.
Part of the “Simon Star” Series
©2012 Andrew B. Clark