The Observations of Strath And Formant

                                                           (My Worry)

 

 

     How can new life be a champion now?

   How can it be his world of wonder?

How can the day in which we try be rewarded

   with contented sleep and dreams of wondrous fantasy??

 

       Family is why we are here,

  family is the form that is covered by the waters of fertility

     that one day we hope will again have children too,

         but the woe of mum is still as worried as ever was and more-so -

            for fears our new children express conditions of

                integers the lab techs have introduced while,

                     fathers are never now part of the equation.

 

     Now we wait for a year, perhaps two or three to understand

if our child has the behavioural conditions – never known or feared

   a hundred years ago,

      and then, there is the snide of authority too,

          that doesn’t want you to know.

 

     We are emotional communication beings,

but are told to ignore how our ethereal component feels -

  and yet, our other being that has the right side heart

      to condition our physical left keeps beating,

          pains to a realm now fraught with worry -

    and alarm that our conscious, is to never communicate our fears;-

            ‘our collective conscience now crying tears!’

 

     Where I now live, I have visited upon a near future

and know only of derelict buildings we loosely now think of home,

  the roads are broken, the birds are no longer singing or flying,

     heads down and in unrepair, feather and plume – tatty and scavenged,

         the grass too, patchy and almost like my known despair;

             translucent and losing form each day.

 

   It is not that I must go,

      it is not that I must stay,

         it is a solemn loneliness where future

            revelations have no soprano song of infants too.

 

     I am doubtful of my own life for it has never been mine,

        but live I have done to be with my children, my wife,

      where are they upon my horizon while my guide I never see

            stands behind me to have witness of the spark now with

                   portals to dead galaxies, – blocked and closed?

 

     I cannot find a place to engage a look of concern,

  every turn of my head is a mere distraction,

     an act I am employing as my scream knows not

        where any presence makes my ‘ill’ valid,

           it is as though an abyss has taken such function,

               such human frailty.

 

   As children believing we know, ‘things,’

     we would engage lingo speak to champion selves

         as intellectuals and intelligence;-

           ‘self affirmation, self confirmation, knowing our id,

               and self actualization we stressed among friends -

                    made competition of frauds!’

 

 

 

                                       “Stood in the ‘spark,’

                                  the translucent colours of heaven and the Sirius B Sun -

                               I would have known once as privilege,

                                          (like seeing Jupiter Bold and Beautiful in the Day Sky),

                                               but the spark is under threat as is and knowing;-

                                                     my love of life,

                                                              the life which has never once,

                                                                                                   been mine!”

 

I miss, all.

 

 

Michael J Zinhle Waite. 4th May 2024.