Why, why am I called to be the strange one. The strangest one of all. My life, remaining the little boy, filled with strange ideas. Living in the magical world of make believe, where belief is believing and becoming, as my countenance passes through my world. Are you my grandmother?
I’ve always been a Human that is respectful of ancestors and the role they play, cascading and glimmering along with us as we pass through our world. There is the poet, 250 years past, but who I imagine and hope is still treading the earth, along with me; the one who I allow to sing sweet, sublime, truthful verses into my heart, a teacher of the turn of a phrase, sweet syllables singing and caressing, as the depth of human emotion is cast about and held within words tumbling from the mind.
Are you my grandmother?
My grandmother’s love, so sweet and sublime, tears are even now welling up in eyes, that remember the seeing of the kindest women I loved. The woman who struggled in life but found love and light within family bonds. Where have you gone my precious and sweet memory, you, do you know how much I love you even now; as you held my hand, as you swept my hair from out of my eyes, as you made me feel like the King of the World, as you in your kindness taught me about love…and showed the world as beautiful to me. Oh sweet memory of you.
And how you taught us all, from the caring, manifest heart of your father before you, that passed down the family tradition of the love of animals, that God has placed in our care.
I’ve been searching for you, for I miss you and long for you, a full grown adult still pining for a sweet friendship, a sweet love and surrender, now long past. Are you my grandmother?
Do you remember, the last time we were together, in that foul smelling place of death, oh how I longed to suppress all the rules and to make you whole again. If God is real then why…. Do you know how bittersweet, that current of love that flowed in silence, as we held hands for the last time, as you lay dying. My beloved one, my everything. The pain, I felt for you.
Oh how your hands were gifts to all who knew you, crafting the most beautiful things, for all of us out of your love. Oh how I miss you, after all the years now past; I still long for you.
And every day, as I tend my garden, bowed down and blown away by the beauty, of the flowers that sing and dance before me. I think of you. They bloom from me to you. Our hearts aligned within the cascading blooms. The sweetness and the charm that they add to a world gone mad.
God how I loved you.
Are you my grandmother?
And I asked the One, imbued with love, to help me find you once again, in this current time and place. Still the child, capable of turning longing, into imagination and bringing forth the appearing of you fully formed. Are you my grandmother?
You don’t look like my grandmother, but you did appear, at just the moment I asked, reminding me; could it be…
Are you my grandmother?
But my merciful God, saw my longing and love, and when I asked, He|She allowed you to appear to me once again, by some miracle, in the denseness of impossibility. Are you really my grandmother?
Such a silly thought, from an old fool, who still retains his child’s heart. Oh to let me touch you once more, and show you the depth of my love, and to be caressed by yours. I still feel your living hand in mine, even now.
You must be my grandmother?