I see them on the manicured grass
I see my father strutting
under the bright lights of the football field,
his helmet reflecting the starry sky. I see
my mother, cheering loudly in her modest uniform,
pom poms in hand, her smile revealing
her heart’s fulfillment.
They are in love,
so he says,
and so she believes.
His words bring her security
even though they are arguably hollow.
I wish I could warn
her; that in this moment
in front of her locker as they exchange
kisses and sweet messages, her standing
still and he walking in the opposite
direction would become her reality.
I wish I could warn her of the coming pain.
That the responsibility of being a father
would scare him away, and he would abandon
her with the consequences of their tango---
in which, I am.
I am her pain,
the memory of first loves lost.
I am her regret,
made in his image so she never forgets.
I am her reminder
of college dreams deferred.
As an infant I helplessly nag for milk
only concerned about my own needs,
unable to understand her loses.
But I am her joy,
evident by her sharing the baby boy’s innocent smile.
I am her motivation,
her grudge with the world to prove
that single moms can persevere.
From this, the pain seems to have reason.
Reason for her, and maybe even
reason for me.
So I choose not to warn
my mother of the coming sorrow.
Without it, I am not alive,
We are like robots, programmed
to answer everything with, “I’m doing fine.”
Though we are coded to desire
companionship, love, and acceptance, somehow
giving snapshots of ourselves has become status quo.
We accept the culture’s grace, and put on a smile and faulty disposition,
knowing that a smile isn’t an accurate meter of our heart’s condition.
When watching the news, the hearts
“I just need someone to love me!”
Sadly, we fail to express this. Instead, we say,
“I’m doing fine.”
The news claim to have live video coverage,
But really they only have snapshots,
missing the reality that we are broken,
and becoming less aware of our need for a Savior.
Instead we have chosen to be our own saviors,
benignly content with front facing
cameras that reflects our own glory.
Man has chosen to worship themselves---
which only means we have been blinded by the flash.
Love Defines Love (Italian Sonnet)
Is love to us defined clearly today?
Does a love of pancakes share in robust
with a love for someone unstained with lust?
Since loosely used, its value fades away.
So who is to blame for our negligence?
That first love who said it prematurely?
Though they had no clue it’s meaning, surely
word spoken from ignorant innocence.
Whatever is to blame there is one thing.
We seem to be misgauging this word love,
perhaps because we have chosen our fates.
We reject the Creator of all being
whose name is Love, virtues it sits above.
In all things, Love defines since it creates.