The weight of generations
Stuttered his steps--
Young legs, agile mind,
An intimidation
To those new to him.
But in small moments
of deeply anchored words
and acts of casual kindness,
The teddy bear of his heart
Was shown underneath.
His hands fidgeted with a knife
Constantly, a butterfly
Flittering through his fingers--
was that the speed of his thoughts?
What did he think, when he wandered
Through creeks of God’s creation?
He kept his hair long, as if afraid
To release the past,
But he clearly showcased
The Lord’s word on his back, deaf
To the voices that rebuked him.
Fluent in rolling jests, but also
Drawing wisdom as if from the earth
I thought he was talking to me. . .
One time. . . but I can never seem
To look people in the eyes.
Who is he, Lord?
I can only see
People as half alive
Without Your guidance.