inspired by The Weekend Wordsmith
It’s a precarious thing,
floating un-buoyed on perceptions
of a man’s integrity, character
which might change course
at any moment. Yet the constant,
the one thing unchanging, is you.
While the tent-poles of manhood fall,
all around, all around,
you remain. You may yet fall,
and you can fall,
but not here, Beloved.
Here of all places I need you
to stand-- take up the Center-pole,
give me space to stand, not to fall.
Give me space to learn to trust
your mettle after all.