Copyright 2013 Gordon Kuhn
All rights reserved.
As a child growing up,
Confusion held my hand.
It still does in many ways
As I walk upon unstable land.
A child loose there upon the grass
With no place then for me to stand
Amid night’s green pea soup am hungry comfort fed
The ambush of morning lies nearing knowing
Thus straight forward just ahead.
It’s not the daylight that I dread
Which comes, forced up like those little trays
That live on airplane seat backs
For your magazine or drink to hold
As the stewardess removes the spent
Collects up the empty old.
It’s not the knowing of these ways
The path that has no map instead
For within the realm of opposing tracks
I find no reconciliation for me to know
No compass with true north is shown
While still the child walking goes not hearing
Before a freight train racing with its engine full throttle
Whistle screaming nearing the once safe and empty clearing
Too late the guiltless guiding hand held out remains
In distant dream nearing unknown, loathing, fearing.
Yet there is no place for me to stand
A naked child loose runs upon the grass
No place for me, none upon this empty land. June 22, 2013