Absalom

I wait for my son to return to me
but he only grows
up, away, apart
leaving me distant and separate.

A time will come when again he will cling to me
I tell the lie to myself
knowing it never can be
because I have pushed him away.

Orbits weaken with the stress of time
cracks widen, the circle dissolves
spinning to unknown directions
to reform and repeat the cycle.

I dream of my son slain in the darkness
the youth and bravado
charging heedless, mindless
dying inglorious, stained and torn.

This unexpected fate turns up on me
although it wasn't supposed to be
not the chance
that takes him from me.

Time weakens the tissue that connects
the soul to the heart
and so, tangled and dangling the body,
the spirit flees.