The Winter Castle

The Winter Castle  12/13/2013

I have a Russian chair

That came from my father’s house

Gilded wood

And red velvet

Neoclassical and carved.

It has always been there

As long as I can remember

A part of him

And now a part of me.

Timeless and changeless

It sits in my bedroom

But from where he got it

I have no idea. 

He is gone

And his records are dust

But time remains an illusion

Yet to be acknowledged

Or mastered.

I have no home

And I have no country

Sold out and devalued

Until there is nothing left at all. 

Man reaches for the heights

But he falls far below

Barely leaving the ground

Before he forgets

And doubts.

Everything has been exploited

And strange gods sit on the shelf

As we slouch forward

And fall on the ground.

Behold the ruins

Of all that was

As we grasp at the threads

And pull them apart.

But home is where the heart is

And peace is never far away

Whenever we remember

To pray.

His dreams

Are safe with me

And I shall give the chair

For my son to keep.

A throne fit for a castle

Solid, steep and mighty

Invisible and remote

And shrouded in snow. 

 

Where ever he is

And whatever will be.

I am with him

And he is with me.