Baby Mine, a blackout poem

Every delivery room has an orchestra of noises: groans, cries, screams, yells, songs, whispers, and cheers.

The cry of a heart, no matter the occasion, is universal. Recognized. Known. Understood. It runs deep and lands raw.

              Joy or sorrow.  Love or hate.

              Mercy or bitterness.  Fight or fright.

The mother in the backdrop story lost her child, and her heart cried. The mother in the blackout poem gained a child, and her heart cried. It’s the music of living.

The concerts of life flow from the rhythm of our hearts. It is a beautiful and gut-wrenching sound that brings depth and meaning to our life. Live and love hard. Moments make music.

To My Sons, a blackout poem

Floating Vapor Commentary Below

At first this blackout bothered me because this poem switches from second person to third person. The overactive grammarian in me screams, but the  wanna-be philosopher in me smiles. It represents an important natural phenomenon in life: what we do today (second person action…YOU) becomes the reputation we have in our tomorrows (third person results…HE, HIS). What people say about you in third person tomorrow is largely due to what you do in second person today. My sons know that no matter what they do or don’t do, I will never stop loving them. What I want them to know also is that what they do or don’t do today matters in their tomorrows. You don’t have to do something to be someone, but those third person conversations are only favorable when you choose to be a worthy second person doer. Sons, I pray you desire to frame that third person reputation around God’s glory so the portraits you capture today in second person reflect those desires. “He….starts with YOU.”