We’ve been getting extremely rich poems lately from several different people – seems like every line is something to sit with. Here’s one from Sean Thompson…
You birthed blisters to call them my brothers,
As well as withdrew your conquests in my stead,
All with this day carved into the back of your head.
Effort not easily forgotten, and not possible to ignore,
But kept in forethought with mark made as fuel,
Much like the shine in my eyes had been to you.
Ribald was your failure’s spirit,
My conception, your respite.
In me your friends saw you, you wouldn’t admit,
In me you see yourself, you say “No, not yet,”
Be that, I knew what wedged mutual,
My place: nuzzled warm in your hull.
Ought I kiss the zenith for you, in your stead?
Is this the state with which you’d beg?
Genuflected on stout knee, grasp not unempty,
Apterous, and thus indistinguishable from your enemies,
Born of one who born you with the sun in his eyes.
Did you ever think what yielded you as the state in which you lie?
And yet I carry the nervousness you awarded to me,
We radiate in unison, synchrony you always sought.
Brandish your zeal and cheer on for victory,
Know your son cheers on with you, finally.
And believe it is now that you see all things you wished of me…
And it is now that you will never see us succeed.