The Invitation


Dust glitters on photo framed

Damsel and dame don’t know his name

He stood alone at tabletop

Best of kin there with him to cater to a forceful grin


I love them all

Oh how many ways they love him!

But one way families lack is in beauty that the eye attracts

Perhaps she could be a salve to his splintered soul

An image of the one who holds the world in His hands

If so, the question then becomes…

When do you stop being one?

Another year two become…

That picture. But you? Without painter

The muse is missing. Your skills?


Timeless tutors yet clock moves onward

Readily do we cast aside the wisdom of an elder life

Or perhaps, they too

are absent

Wristwatch is loose, I want to fill it…

...with strength of arm and right-handed ways

But I’m a lefty, oh no, dismay… what I do fill, my mind of toil yet hands, idle

Work widens the wallet then sets the sun

Muse is costly, alien to mine eyes

she’s difficult to find with unsettled mind

Still, I could be her Adonis

Generosity would be in need to find something of worth in me

Worth wrought through body gruff

Calluses by callousness dawned by difficulty still to come

Establish now what is to be the fruits of they labor

For those who endure until the end

are those who have been made men

Yet made men must not forget

the maiden who lead them away from sin

Her excellence in endurance, assurance of they worth

Not gemstones or jewelry, acts or attitudes, pleasure, or passion…

But every year the two remain that picture

Dust decorates the frame of the legacy left for loved ones

Originally composed 5/2/20 & 6/12/20