by Mathew Paust
They have at birth wings of the glad,
before they understand they're born to die
before they've found a god or learned denial to ease them on the way
they're bubbly babes who trust their moms if not, as well, their fathers--
their cries are healthy cries, relishing comfort and love and such--
they'd rather warble, praising wonders, than simply screech
All creatures know death at their very core, a tacit default--
and instinct, of innocents of the fruit of Knowledge, leads them undespairing
all the way
but comprehension brings a whole new game of espy and deny--
the accelerating recognition of signs ever encroaching on
deceptive routes of escape
The deep-sleep ogre that flees a dream-shouted BOO! returns by day
in smug authority dress, casting looks and toxic odor
the dashed expectation, sting of a quiet no, grownup's tears, grief's piteous wail...
things that tug the ragged curtain back enough for the glimpse
that chills all hearts, that those with wings of the glad
can leave behind
Those with wings of the glad carry merriment in their eyes
and their laughter is jolly and kind
though they cry and die like the rest
Love the first stanza. So true about children.
Thank you, Erika. And some keep that (intuition, maybe?) with them all their lives. My mom did. She went thru some awful travails, yet could draw on a reservoir of something--gratitude, I suspect, just for being alive. She died in terrible pain, but with peace in her voice and in her eyes--and, I dearly trust, in her heart. And she was no fool. I'm grateful for the memories and her DNA.
Thanks, Sam.
Oh!
Thanks, Gary.
All creatures know death at their very core, a tacit default--
Ah, yes. And so it is. *
Thanks, Tim.
*, Mathew. The 2nd stanza owned me for a bit after reading it.
Hear you, David. Damned thing had me by the throat.
Just logged in with a morning coffee and this was a brilliant buzz to the senses. Good work-
Many thanks, Neil.
"the dashed expectation, sting of a quiet no, grownup's tears, grief's piteous wail..."
Excellent!