Perhaps We'll Never Understand Each Other

Perhaps we'll never understand each other.
Loving doesn't mean that we agree.
If that were so, then I would say, why bother?
But there are things I know I'll never see.
I'm sure your heart knows what I don't yet know:
The pain of loving a reluctant son;
The anger, coming fast and building slow,
Of being helpless to control someone.
You want only that I grow up right,
But you know what right is, and I still don't.
I have to learn to wield my inner light,
And if I follow yours, well, then I won't.
I'm sorry for the anger in the air;
Though we fight, my love is always there.
Stepfathers Are No Less than Those of Blood
Stepfathers are no less than those of blood:
The spirit is more comely than the flesh.
Equally, two mysteries might mesh,
Paired by nature or by neighborhood.
Fathers are defined by how they love,
And not by how they multiply or breed.
Though you did not supply the primal seed,
How you've loved me does your kinship prove.
Each child must turn when life's too hard to bear,
Regarding someone's arms or empty air.
So do I turn, and always you are there.
Stepfathers of Grown Children Find the Grace
Stepfathers of grown children find the grace
To love beneath a banner of their own.
Each is more than friend, though not by blood;
Parent, yet not part of childhood;
Father, yes, in truth, but not in stone.
Arms open ever to our long embrace,
They give to us what's theirs to give alone:
Hearts unhindered by a child's good,
Ears unhampered by what words we would,
Regard deep rooted in a single tone
Shared through fondness for a single face.
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Happy Easter to My Love

Happy Easter to my love!
As days turn into daze,
Perhaps the holiday will prove
Potent to your gaze.
Years pass like a blur, and yet
Eternity stands still,
Available in silhouette,
Seen by act of will.
This day may you be touched by grace,
Embraced by love, by passion moved,
Reborn to time and place.
Having Walked the Tight-Lipped Jersey Streets
Having walked the tight-lipped Jersey streets,
A house to every inward-turning love,
Peaceful, neat, above all else secure,
Pausing, I am ravished by their beauty.
Years will tell the stories of these streets;
Each house, the joy of its secluded love,
As children come and go, indulged, secure,
Singed or not by life's most awesome beauty.
There is no quarter on these death-strewn streets,
Each house the scene of terror, pain, and love,
Redeemed alone by the passion of its beauty.
Heaven Has No Exit to Despair
Heaven has no exit to despair.
A faith too pure's a prison in disguise.
Passion is the impetus for prayer,
Pleading for more hope than meets the eyes.
Yet lack of faith can, too, be too complete,
Emancipating one from all that matters,
A separate, though quite equal, self-deceit,
Sustained by reason, that one's flailing flatters.
Truth demands fidelity to pain,
Ecstasy that comes and goes again,
Revealing nothing but a faith in tatters.
Heaven Is No Happenstance
Heaven is no happenstance,
As everybody knows.
Prayer leads to paradise;
Passion leads to blows.
Years and years of loving God,
Even when in pain,
And faith in Christ's great sacrifice
Simple hearts sustain.
Those who neither hope nor care
Exist in undisclosed despair,
Reasoning in vain.
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