You learned to play Chess
when I was eight.
I taught you the moves
and never again won.
You taught me so many things;
holding a gun with quiet aim,
pedaling with skinned knee,
to listen for Smoky baying at rabbits.
Your mind was your prize
along with your faith.
Both so strong, determined
I wondered how I could ever match up.
You showed me love
by sleeping while I flew.
Engine roaring, props churning
You showed me trust.
You never mentioned my fear
as we climbed towards the sun
and you cut the engines
turning plane into roller coaster.
Fearless, you drove, you flew
You believed, you focused.
No problem could stand
when your formidable mind took it.
You taught yourself
the language of machines,
writing logical instructions
creating structured beauty from radio signals.
Such a sharp mind
and a gentle soul.
I don't understand.
My sadness turns in my gut.
Your mind was your prize
second only to your faith.
Do the ruins of that once sharp steel
know what is gone, taken from you?
As you sit so quiet
on your narrow assigned bed
I feel a keen sadness,
pondering what you have lost.
I pray to the great
Power in the Universe
that is, was, and will always be
that I feel it more than you do.
Aug 30, 2012
Aug 30, 2012 at 4:15 PM UTC
You learned to play Chess
when I was eight.
I taught you the moves
and never again won.
You taught me so many things;
holding a gun with quiet aim,
pedaling with skinned knee,
to listen for Smoky baying at rabbits.
Your mind was your prize
along with your faith.
Both so strong, determined
I wondered how I could ever match up.
You showed me love
by sleeping while I flew.
Engine roaring, props churning
You showed me trust.
You never mentioned my fear
as we climbed towards the sun
and you cut the engines
turning plane into roller coaster.
Fearless, you drove, you flew
You believed, you focused.
No problem could stand
when your formidable mind took it.
You taught yourself
the language of machines,
writing logical instructions
creating structured beauty from radio signals.
Such a sharp mind
and a gentle soul.
I don't understand.
My sadness turns in my gut.
Your mind was your prize
second only to your faith.
Do the ruins of that once sharp steel
know what is gone, taken from you?
As you sit so quiet
on your narrow assigned bed
I feel a keen sadness,
pondering what you have lost.
I pray to the great
Power in the Universe
that is, was, and will always be
that I feel it more than you do.
For my father Merle Michael Albert
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