Aware

For my children...

Somewhere between clay and form,
A candle, lit but not yet formed by
The waxy pattern that will surround you.
You are not blank, only impressionable.
In a world dying to impress.
You will not know all the answers,
But when one eludes you,
You will sense its absence
Like a word that is on your tongue
But not making a sound.
It will scream at you in silence.
You will hear it and turn your head
It will be a tinnitus that never ends,
That has no cure save one-

Discovery.

Please take this offering from me,
The gift that will save you from mediocrity.
The word your ancestors exhale in their muddy regret
daring you to listen.
Put your ear to crest of their tomb.
. . .Can you hear it?