The Boy is Father to the Man

I am disappointed by the mirror
But disappointment edges with surprise
When my clouding image looms up clearer
And I think I see madness in my eyes

When I was a boy I waited to see
If my eyes could mark the miles of life as
Time and its tumult made a man of me
And now since I have lived so long it has
Been ever more clear I never got near
To life except by serendipity

Whatever a man is I do not think
That this is what I had in mind at all
If man is fallen this must be his fall
That is what I see here: I see the brink
Just beyond yet behind where stained eyes strain
Out of what was to what is and must be

I cringe at this image over this sink
Surrounded by bathroom banality
Where once I stood in boyhood dreaming here
I see my boyhood eyes destroyed by pain
Burned in the darkness and branded with fear
Trapped in this life-death mask mortality

Is this how it happens? Where is that boy
Who had no idea it would be this way
Who waited to mark the miles and enjoy
What seemed to him some endless holiday?

This is not what that boy waited to see
I shudder to think of how he must feel
I am too disappointed to explain
But he is blind now not to see again
And having gone I hope he has gone free
Where nightmares shown in mirrors are not real

What vision disappointment left surprise
Took that when he saw madness in my eyes
And though I age it was he who made me
So I would like to find him if I can
To say I was sorry to see him go
And that he was me just so he would know

A boy like that might fear this crazy man
Perhaps we will meet in eternity
Where we could forget about all of this
Enlightened there by sheer lucidity
Disappointed eyes surprised by a kiss
To make a man of him a boy of me

+Steven Curtis Lance



Copyright MMVII

I have also been listening to the voice of my younger past self, though not enough so I'm very glad you posted this poem to remember my former lively, provoking, hyper enthusiastic attitude which has suffered and learned through words, experience and loss

I like how the developed adult in this poem realizes his imperfection as man and the earth he treads on is not perfect
Where a young boy or girl would aspire to greatness in youth

" Whatever a man is I do not think
That this is what I had in mind at all
If man is fallen this must be his fall
That is what I see here: I see the brink
Just beyond yet behind where stained eyes strain
Out of what was to what is and must be "

And the last stanza, where you learn from each other, where the self understands itself also perhaps with an understanding that is beyond ours, where past, present and future meet in the meaning of the making with a view in tune with the inner and outer presence, existence

I send you my love, thanks for being there
+F