a man sat on a chair, beer in hand
he thinks back to when he was younger and thought he’d be a good father, a good husband, a good friend
his feeling good seems like it was a long time ago
another beer, another night with the tv’s insatiable need to talk without breath

a young child listens again to yelling parents
each believing in their righteousness
so easy to hear there is nothing right this evening
but only the child is really listening

i once had a dream
i dreamed in peace and needed not to awaken
at least i didn’t think I would need to wake up
alarming

the moon is rising one more night
fairies flit to and fro
gifts in hand for young believers
accompanied by midnight orchestrations

if i could but hold the moments moving through me
with such beauty that i don’t yet understand
if i could but hold them
i’d give them as gifts

so precious is this beautiful mess