Somehow I thought I’d be more ready 

Decades of dread would have prepared me? 

I knew when they appeared at the door, 

You were gone. 

 

My warrior poet son, dancing on the edge of his sword, 

You slipped and fell. 

My sweet loyal son, voice of the streets 

Insisting that we listen to your hard truth. 

 

Warrior loyal to decay 

The ground on which you stood has washed away, 

A meteor bursting through our lives 

     Flying through the night sky 

You flew too close to the sun 

Fly, fall, fly, fall … 

 

Suddenly you exist at every age all at once 

Chubby infant to tow headed toddler  

Awkward youth to tormented adolescent 

Your adulthood sequenced through the progression 

   of ink filling in your face 

and the shade dropping over your eyes 

Fly, fall, fly, fall … 

 

I pour through the artifacts of your years 

I mourn your potential and celebrate through tears  

that which once frustrated  

   stubborn loud, too animated  

   now you are too quiet sweet boy     

I yearn to have held you tighter to this place 

Just once more to kiss your face 

Claudette A Fette