I opened a door in you;
And looking through
I saw the mothers
Images etched upon
The corridors of your body.
I witnessed the seeds
Of all they lived
Planted in you
As your own seeds,
And as the seeds of
All you can be.
Strangely you have not
Known that door –
Except in sleep.
And when I peered
Beyond it I found boxes there,
Full of history and treasures;
Boxes you might never
Break open except
In the extremes of need,
Or the excitation of
Greatness or wonder.
And you are so full
Of these things,
Lying quiescent beneath
The familiar lines
Of your face,
And the wonderful
Deception of who you are.
And who you
Know yourself to be.

Copyright ©2008 Tony Crisp

Copyright © 1999-2010 Tony Crisp | All rights reserved