The life was new.
The life was hidden, withdrawn, but stirring beneath the surface
of man, restless
feeling incomplete, as if he were only half
of something and where pray tell is
the other half.
Oh but the life
the whippersnappin’ life was young and foolish, darting out in
spurts, random, irresponsibly.
The life was at a loss.
the wise was keeping vigil, watching protectively, counseling gently
in the stirring of the wind:
Wait. Focus. Control yourself. Learn. Prepare. Use what you’ve got.
Don’t throw it on the ground;
don’t cast it out when you’re in town.
Find a place that’s safe and sound
and slightly round.
There is a place for you if you will seek, if you will
wait upon her, ‘though mishaps there may be,
‘though dark days you will see.
Destiny, providentially so-to-speak, whispers
in those dark hours of the night,
but also in the clarity of the bright light
and in the very horned beastly midst of your fight
for peace of mind, and fulfillment,
self-actualization, what we use to call
Project not yourself into any old hole; cast not your pearl
to front, nor to rear.
You, my precious life, are too dear
to sputter in the rear.
Oh, wipe away your tear.
Train your sorrow to flow;
direct your milky force to go
into something worthwhile, like . . .
work. I don’t know. Think about it.
Don’t be a jerk,
and please don’t twerk. But rather,
Wait. Watch. Focus. Learn. Prepare. Believe. Use what you’re given.
Be just a little driven
but not obnoxiously so.
and do the best you can,
and when she comes, your half will become
Like I said, in not just any hole.
For the sake of your soul,
and the soul of them who are to come
when you are done.