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peterdawes — The Blue-Eyed Boy
by-nc-nd
Published: 2008-03-25 14:35:47 +0000 UTC; Views: 586; Favourites: 10; Downloads: 6
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Description
sky-colored eyesthat remind me a bit too much of my own
carbon-copied reproduction of chromosomes
genetics on display
improvements made upon the original
improvements which came from the woman
who brought him forth into the world
yet so obviously my son
so obviously the headstrong apple
rolled only a few paces
from the tree of its origin
i watch him run
arms outstretched, his smile bright
an airplane cutting through the clouds
descending to the ground without landing gear
when he stumbles over a rock within the sky
stand up, only to brush himself off
so much like his father
stumbling only to stand again
wishes cast into the heavens
he stumbles fewer times
than his patriarch
his vocabulary incomplete
he manages to say, daddy
did you see me fly
eyes which say so much more
have i made you proud?
have i lived up to your
unspoken expectations?
as he wraps his arms around me
gathered into my embrace
i want to be like you when i grow up
do not be like me, i think
be yourself
little legs which run off again
my eyes still follow the airplane
soaring in the sky of green grass
thoughts centered around my father
as three generations touch hands
through the barriers of space and time
what did he think when he watched me
did he see my own falterings and failures
did he imagine how often i'd fall short
or was it a lot like today
as i see his grandson play
with the carefree air
of innocence
seeing not the sins
the stupid decisions made
only seeing the light brown hair
the searching eyes
still learning every day
about the world around him
and the stirring of pride
perhaps a bit of jealousy, too
that he has his whole life ahead
with guidance from those who love him
smiling at the innocence
wanting to guard it with my life
hoping to be present to watch him
as he finally takes flight
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Comments: 42
Innocence is a rare and wasted thing in this world. At least some wrtiers can still capture it, and bring us back to better times. My hat is off to you, and your graceful way with words.
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awwwwwwwwwwwwwwww 
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I should, shouldn't I? 
Thank you for placing the notion into my mind. As soon as time permits, I shall see to doing that.
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The love of a father for his son...My heart aches for you as I feel the pain in your words, yet feel a bit of hope as well..
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Always hope. So long as they live there is always hope.
Thank you for the favorite.
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Yes there is..Don't ever let go of it...No worries for answering messages in a time frame..I just enjoy reading your words immensely..
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Thank you kindly, dear Sabrina. I appreciate both your grace and support.
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It seems we bolth have a blue eyed girl that's dear to us. I just can't imangane the joy you feal when writeing this poem, nor do I ever beleive that I will.
And while it pains me to say this, I have a dream of a little girl, but she always has blue eyes, and brown hair, though they wouldn't be from my side because I have brown eyes...(thank you mom-blue-/dad-brown- for giveing me brown eyes...)
Though I don't know why, that's the only real image I have about any real future where I am happy.
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Take a step toward that future, if it is at all possible.
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Oh my goodness, that's so beautiful. I know, I use that word a lot when describing your poetry but I can't think of a better word for it. I've gone all tearful over this one..
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This was one of my more difficult poems to pen. Perhaps that's why I honed in on such a vivid memory. I barely had chance to know him before he was taken from me and still wonder what kind of young man he is today.
I am glad the sentiment carried, despite the inadequacy of my memories.
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Of course. You poor thing..
Perhaps it is the lack of memories that causes the reaction?
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Perhaps so, my dear.
I once leant "her" my memories when she could not summon hers. I shall have to borrow hers when we're together again, to see how my children grew.
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I imagine that scene, for some reason, as you and her curled up on a couch together in a room lit only by firelight, speaking softly, with her clutching a cup of hot chocolate or coffee...
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We were curled up on a couch together, actually. Funny you should mention that.
God, what a bittersweet memory. She could not recall the children after becoming immortal and had yet to regain her memories. So, I shared mine with her. She was delighted.
*sigh*
I miss her terribly. I have never experienced such a moment with anyone else, before or after.
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There's something wonderful in being alone with someone you love talking about experiences you've shared together.
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Strange what the heart sees as now, no matter the time and distance. Sometimes, it is the only way to make the present a thing to be endured.
I cry for the pain in your heart, painted so dramatically with your words.
I do not know your circumstances. I can only feel your sense of loss, and your constant hope.
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The tale is a bit complex. All it results in is what you see presented here. The man in Philadelphia. His family across the country. More than miles separating them.
I muse at times over what he must be like today. Only having me as a template for a seventeen year old boy. . . well, let's say it's better I think of him still as a three year old. 
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>>I was not the most pious seventeen year old.<<
::has to smile:
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Ah, but even prior to taking the wrist of my former mistress. Eleven years prior, in fact. Once a devil, always a devil?
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It seems like sacrilege to tell you to correct even one word in this poem, seeing as how tears are welling up in my eyes. You paint your son's picture so clearly, and I see my own children again through you. How quickly they grow up. It makes me angry and sad to know you didn't have even those fleeting years; that your children are caught forever at this age in your heart and mind. Never grown. Never seeking your approval as they added birthdays to their lives. I wonder if their memories are particularly vibrant for you right now for a reason. Is this heaven's way of sharpening your hope and strengthening your resolve? Of tempting you forward into the "now" where they wait for you? I wish it so.
:she takes a deep breath and shakes her head at what she is about to say: Everyday should be two words in line 5 of the last stanza. Sorry.
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Apologize not, fair Denise. I appreciate your pointing it out for me.
Hardly wish to show my children such musings in the future with typos.
*sigh* To dream. And not to grow bitter over wasted years. I only harbor guilt I haven't been there to offer guidance. Especially if he truly is a more unique child than most boys.
If you get what I mean by that.
Hope and strength? I certainly pray such is the case. A lit candle. A word to the cosmos after so much silence. Perhaps the faint twinkle caught somebody's eye.
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I am sure he is unique -- and his sister too. Their parents' DNA runs through their veins, after all. That should mean they can weather tough times as well. Certainly, you and she have.
How many candles has it been now, Peter? Must seem like a bonfire from above -- and that kind of conflagration cannot be ignored.
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I do sincerely hope they have her resolve. That woman astounds me with her strength. I don't have to see her to know it; she perseveres through every day with her chin held high and her shoulders straight.
She was always the stronger of us two.
How many candles? Too many. It might be better for me if I invested in an eternal flame.
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Or a blowtorch. A great big blowtorch.
I do wonder what is happening to her, based on this image of her with her chin up and shoulders squared. Sounds like she is trying to endure something horrible.
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You never miss anything, dear Denise.
Consider that a grin amongst conspirators. You are astute. Still missing portions of the picture, but it's coming into focus.
A blowtorch has promise. Could also be used as a weapon if needs be.
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A little charbroiling before the final dust off, eh? I would eagerly watch such a battle. From behind a rock of course.
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I prefer the poetry of the sword.
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With Peter/Flynn to protect me? A flamethrower is superfluous.
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A being in the cosmos who still has confidence in my blade skills. Make that you and Robin.
As for me, it has been fourteen years since I've used it in a combatant stance. (And not merely practiced with it.) Let us both hope I'm not nearly as rusty as I fear I am.
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It's like riding a bike; I don't think you forget. But perhaps Robin should be testing your abilities now and then. Just in case. But please be careful not to eliminate each other by accident!
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Not even a knick or two?
No, you don't forget and such is why I practice. The instincts know what to do. Still, a little swordplay isn't a terrible idea. I shall see if Robin is game one of these evenings when we are less occupied.
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No, not even a knick. At least not right away. I would want you in better shape before you attempt such playful little cuts. One slip and... I dare not think about it.
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Glad to hear it. And I'm sure Robin is too.
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Robin is quite glad, rest assured.
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you bum. i'm so about to cry after reading this. sure, maybe it's because i'd like another couple hours of sleep instead of heading in to class, but i'm thinking it's because of you.
o well.
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Sleep well tonight, then.
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