Poem by Dan Stone
I see stories here.
One that’s old,
a bit threadbare perhaps,
but happy, warm.
An innocence
I thought was lost
taking on new form.
Another story
still untold
but growing fast,
glowing like a new day,
filling up an empty space.
Funny this convergence,
memory and beginning.
Curious how it feels--
the tender joy
the anxious prayers
the hope of winning,
chances I thought lost
all dawning in a sweet
and trusting,
much anticipated face.
There’s more to tell.
More looking back,
more coming my way.
Reasons I will find,
seasons I will need
to navigate.
Achievements
not all mine
but ones I’ll celebrate,
and oh the laughter
and the tears,
the characters
and plot twists,
disappointments,
happy endings,
and the private,
precious games
that I can’t wait
to play.
I see stories here.
One that’s old,
a bit threadbare perhaps,
but happy, warm.
An innocence
I thought was lost
taking on new form.
Another story
still untold
but growing fast,
glowing like a new day,
filling up an empty space.
Funny this convergence,
memory and beginning.
Curious how it feels--
the tender joy
the anxious prayers
the hope of winning,
chances I thought lost
all dawning in a sweet
and trusting,
much anticipated face.
There’s more to tell.
More looking back,
more coming my way.
Reasons I will find,
seasons I will need
to navigate.
Achievements
not all mine
but ones I’ll celebrate,
and oh the laughter
and the tears,
the characters
and plot twists,
disappointments,
happy endings,
and the private,
precious games
that I can’t wait
to play.