The Rememberings

Thoughts a swarming bout the hive.
The words no sooner came alive.

He met a paper with a pen.
There was that scratching sound again,

Before a trail of curvy blue.
It was a plan, what he would do.

Articulation brought relief.
He held it strong, like a belief.

Over time the words would weaken.
But he dug in, he wasn’t seeking,

A newer plan, a better way.
He wouldn’t let the come what may.

He wouldn’t turn upon his savior,
Once it fell out of favor.

So there he was, he had a problem.
Would he make light of his solemn?

Would he forsake what he professed?
Would he let truth be repressed?

Old reliefs became unsettled.
This was a test of his mettle.

Older eyes now viewed the plan,
Written by a younger man.

‘Shall I live another day,
And let my priors just decay?

Shall I believe and be trapped,
Or depart from this old map?’

His convictions held before,
Before he knew a little more.

Before the future was at hand.
Before realities’ demand.

Was he a bastion of a man,
That he’d expend upon demand?

‘Twas not a plan, twas not belief.
Twas but a moment of relief.

Twas well and good for a time,
A time that ripened and refined. . .

Yet today my strength is needed.
Would I so easily concede it?

Would I be dust before the true,
As it howls and I accrue?

The gains, perhaps far more to lose,
No matter which poison I choose.’

To forsake or keep the nerve.
Both ways he’ll get what he deserves.