Under A Chandelier Of Stars

He inherited chaos through no fault of his own

And the saddled burden bore invisible holes

Into his hatchet hewed heart and weeping willow bowed bones

Where the noise and light would spill out ugly tales

Yet nobody cared enough to follow its telling trails

Except the old man who had survived two unholy wars

And hearsed his napalm scars beneath a splattered canvas of tattoos

Yes, this old man with his blank bullet stare

Gunpowder tongue roasting smoked conversations in the flue of his head

And choking back blurred visions of deadly exits from Khe Sanh

With ashy palms hung down like burnt offerings

Decided that to die a feral coward was unbecoming

So he hobbled his good leg over to the young man

Whose split carmine wrists were laid crucifixion like at the throat of the bridge

And began to sing a childhood lullaby that juddered out his sandpaper mouth

Each cautious note loosed through razorblade wind

Then glued to the trembling belly of night

And the young man who was ready to dance with Mr. Death

Turned back once and fell upon God’s sword of tears in a crumpling heap

As the old man’s eyes burned love’s softest flame

That ate through all barriers both seen and unseen

Like a crushed velvet bird’s numb surrender and spiral

To Hands that tendered impossible care

And when we circled back over that bridge of forgotten sorrows

You could only see one hulking silhouette

Made out of two broken shadows

And with the joy of Lazarus

They shook like a chandelier of stars

As father and son decided that one had enough love

For the both of them.