Dream of a Muse

In the shadow of this tree-of-life,
shaken by the silent thunder of
it's word-heart, a boy-poet stands

Can he hope to have such sturdy
branches, such deep roots sucking
Holy-water from life's rocky soil.

Will the boy's bark grow this thick
and tough, scarred by love's fire
war's weapon-words of destruction.

Will heart-torn lovers, wounded old men,
old ladies pushing shopping carts; small
children, dogs, priests, hand-nailed
penitentes, fools and thieves find his shade
inviting and cooling , a shelter from the storm.

This tree-of-life has borne storms which
made him stronger, louder, a whisper of
words shattering and healing souls.

Will lightening strike the new as well?
Will new growth spring forth strong and tall?
Will heartwood split with silent thunder?

Answers heard as gentle breezes stir;
as strong winds bend, bow, break.
With pen in hand, this storm begins anew;
again, the silent thunder rolls.

©William Davis3/6/99