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Pipe-Organ MAG
A young man
Like a freshly cracked pistachio
Dark-haired and brown-eyed
In a spacious echoing house
Holds a little boy child son
Over the pipe organ.
The room is full of echoes and ghosts,
Sun-sparkling brown glass,
Guitars and mandolins,
Dulcimers and violins
Maps and drawings.
The child clucks with glee
Discovering pedals,
Music that rises
Like smoke from the altar
Sighing in the ancestral rafters.
The pipe-organ is all his!
Nothing matters but toys and music
And Daddy’s hands.
But the Daddy, he’s older,
Thoughts rising in the gloom
Sweep over his face like a broom.
He knows not to stare at the sun
He gazes over the shoulder
Of the spirit of music
Of the boy-child’s laughter,
At the signs and the closing borders
Of the journey he’s begun.
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This article has 3 comments.
This is kind of a photographic of a poem. The contrast is the freedom of the little boy discovering music, while his dad feels that his life is over before it's even really begun.