Starts with rememberingThat you didn’t bring yourselfInto this world,That you were thought of by anotherYears before you had the capacityTo have any thoughts about your own existence.You were spoken for,And given a name to be known byA people to belong toAn identity to reside in-Gifts that can be embraced or despisedBut that are inseparable from […]Read more "Being a son"
Are never adequate.Nothing quite lives upTo the memoryOf a living person.Loss is loss.Whether you engrave it in goldOr write it in the sandThe departed won’t answerWhen you call them by name.Grief is griefAnd it has no expiry date.And though the yearsPile onThe hole is never quite filled.The substance of a memorialIs not so much about […]Read more "Memorials"
Seems to be the hardest thing for us to be. We would rather eat pig’s slop On our own “adventure” Than sit and dine In our Father’s house. So hellbent on our own way So sure that He doesn’t have Our best interests at heart, That we would go out of our way To fend […]Read more "Being our Father’s children"