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Saturday, August 4, 2012

This World

This World


Such an odd mommy.
The Boxer, my lullaby for you,
"The whores on Seventh Avenue"
Rang loud and clear,
Your ears not censored from the cradle -
It was good music;
A bittersweet song for my strong little boy,
Struggling and overcoming,
It was perfect
For this world.

In these heavy-lidded moments I'd envision
Our talks of Kant and Socrates,
The nature of reality,
Politics and philosophy -
Contemplation of the higher things
And the joy it brings
In this world.

But somewhere along the way
The rules changed,
I could no longer be the strange
Mommy with the folk lyric tongue
And her face towards the sun -
I had to be the stronger one,
More practical than intended,
And finally I surrendered to
This new world.

And, as consolation I was told
Teen-aged boys dont really hold that kind
Of conversation with their mothers
In the real world.

Yet they were only ever fantasies,
Like the two of us,
Just fantasies,
Ephemeral and out of place
In this world.


~Darkling Plain, Aug. 24, 2006

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