The Color of the Sky

As useless as a spirit

Bound and gagged

in desperation,

I watch in silent agony

as my daughter

heedleessly races

toward an abyss

Muted by her

single minded purpose

I try to cry out

to warn her

To tell her that I care

That I am here

should she ever need me . . .

But I'm like my mother before me

who was also bound and gagged

watching HER heedless daughter

resolutly treading the same path

towards the same abyss

My heart breaks now,

As hers did then.

They weave their own tapastries,

These children of ours . . .

We can no more tell them what

Threads to weave in

Than we can change the color of the sky . . .

But we can be there,

When they call upon us

To help sort the tangled threads

Bandage the pricked fingers

And help them get on with their lives.