There is a place

“I want to think again of dangerous and noble things.

I want to be light and frolicsome.

I want to be improbable beautiful and afraid of nothing,

as though I had wings.”

― Mary Oliver, Owls and Other Fantasies: Poems and Essays

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there are days (like today)

when I

have feet of clay

I slog through the day

burdened,

or so I think,

by all my perceived flaws

by an aging body

beset by pain

by a sense of fragility and mortality

that is new and disturbing

by a mind that

while reasonably functional

is way to full of regrets

by a self image

that continually pushes me into the world of

“not enough” (although I know in my head that is silly)

so I go through life

sometimes hiding behind clever barriers

keeping others out

sometimes trying to hard

to impress

to obnoxious loud boy on the playground

and yet there is a place within

where the light still glows

a voice which whispers, “child of God, child of God”

there is that place

where a young boy races through the alfalfa field

with light feet

on a magical quest

there is a place where dreams still lives

and hope still dwells

where I am young

and handsome

strong

and intelligent

where I am content

to be me