My daughter Maria has researched my personal genealogy and discovered that many of the great poets of the English tongue are my cousins! What a great Christmas present! Thank you, Maria.

Paradox

I who have little see one who has none
And wonder which is the fortunate one
Our coin has one side for bad one for good
One of us falling one of us leaning
I have never understood the meaning
If there is meaning to be understood

I look white yet I am a cousin of
Langston Hughes in a paradox I love
A family tree of poetic wood
With T. S. Eliot and others too
Possibly even a cousin of you
My neighbor in our human neighborhood

I am going through a terrible time
But others are going through even worse
I try to line my lifelines up by rhyme
In my syllable-counting universe
The only place I have control is here
Where poetry is fashioned from my fear

When times were better I would sing of light
Of drawing a sword if only in pen
But now there seems no sword to put things right
Although I draw it again and again
In pencil imperfectly and erased
To leave little but bitter aftertaste

And so I struggle stumbling though the dark
A cousin of poets who would be one
Still trying to protect such little spark
As left me until a fire has begun
At which time I might sing of light once more
To do again what I once did before

If there is meaning to be understood
Will I ever understand the meaning?
Am I falling now or only leaning?
The coin has one side for bad one for good
I with my little see one who has none
And wonder which is the fortunate one

+Steven Curtis Lance



Copyright MMVIII