Tuesday, May 8, 2012

Hide and Seek

Hidden underneath an ever growing
Cascade of blankets, pillows and large sheets,
I hide from the sound of my Nephew, sing
"You can't find me," while he in turn will bleat
Out that this is, well, just untrue. A fact
Of life I have to accept is that when
A child is hell bent, his perspective ten
Times the size of mine because of his age,
I cannot escape him. Curious sage
Is he who can search without fail, he who
Will pull layer after layer from me,
His Uncle; his own source of comedy.

With a smile he pokes his head underneath
The blankets, just a moment, very brief;
I wonder if God is like this nephew,
Hell bent, in a sense, so to speak, will not
Tire of searching out our position. True
Love is not something that can be forgot
If there is any hope of saving it.
It is, in fact, the opposite of shit.
And even that cannot be without some
Grace; for it returns in time to become
A new source of life in time. What a strange
Thing to think that all things that will change
End up serving the greater purpose of
A God who is, in fact, the greatest love.

Regardless of whether God plays with us
By giving us a choice to hide and fuss
About like little children underneath
Blankets, or pillows and sheets, a small wreath
Of hope still lays on our brow; it cannot
Be forgotten by one who put it there,
And shall not until we die. Should we wrought
Our own murderous doom, death, and despair.

Yet even as I thought of this I think
Of another way to close the gap, sink
The whole metaphor into a mirror
That will allow me, the perfect swimmer
Of words and rhymes and poetry divine,
To show you the fullness of this play time!
Think then instead of yourself as God, shrouded with
All sorts of objects, obstacles to laud
Instead of yourself. If you became myth
In the sight of all these things, your own rod
Might come down hard on the little boy. Sing
Not of that tune though, consider instead
That the boy is searching for you; your head
Comes out for just a moment to show him
He's got a lot further to dig, to swim
In this lake of hindrance he's made. Try then
To make it easy on the lad of ten
Minus Seven; he is, after all, such
A small boy that it must all seem a game!
Try then to reach out and to even touch
His hand; then try to call out his own name.

Perhaps it's stupid to suggest these things
Are all examples of how God gives wings
To thought, how he brings us understanding;
But how else shall we achieve the landing
Of a great airplane, if not by the laws
That govern it's tale, it's wings? It's not straw
To think of a mere sense that's not yet full;
For all things we see are not yet true, whole.
But until they are, I'll continue to
Play with my Nephew; and brew peppermint
Tea. And he'll chase me round, find me and you.
Yet he will always need a careful hint.

                                        Hide and Seek (c) Luke Bennette, May 2012

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