Generation

Generation

Father mother
           daughter son
each in his
           or her season
proper to them
           root of the earth
composed of universe
           filtered through fields
of emerald green
           living on the edge of life
that cradle to grave
           precipice

time domesticated
           if only for a time
life to be led not endured
           all abstraction torn down
love an act of touch
           of reaching out
with the sympathetic soul
           the heart of one’s self
to another
           thoughtful
we are after all
           if only for a while
breathing bones
           the tissue of mineral
sexed so as to spring
           from the land
from cultivated soil
           our mouths crammed
with culture
           of one sort or another

Yes she is my flower
           my chosen one
whom I raise to my lips
           whose body I draw
close to mine
           whose head rests
on my breast
           one day we will all
be raw rock
           but until that time
before the shadows descend
           we are bound to love
take comfort
           from the brilliance of flesh
love that is
           both cause and effect

John Lyons

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