All That is Hidden

How do years submit themselves as new,

become subject to all that came before as beautiful.

Words become life, entreating her as they do,

with a question, revealing all that is hidden in a man.

Such things are sweet, what is ever wonderful,

to love inside life's coincidental plan.

Either hope or tears greet the morning,

discovering an exit from behind these mortal veils.

A face is remembered there, without warning,

that forever shines upon his face like the midday sun.

A name lives on the wind, filling life and sails,

the place where the journey is begun.

To touch her hands is to touch the sky,

together, a world of dreams to reach out and gather.

Such excitement could teach new hearts to fly,

to become as children again, again to all things new.

Hers are colors of beauty,  her delicate matter,

and sparkling like the morning dew.

Silence becomes the music of the night,

a place to listen for some kindred heart in the dark.

To awaken again in her joy and rising bright,

in time's discourse, she never dims or ever grows old.

Above the trees and meadow, his solemn oath,

to love her dearly beyond words untold.

Brian Francis Hudon

December 31, 2019 

Love's Favor

Somehow fear has lost its only friend,

and doubt wanders aimlessly around the days.

Our friendship now should know no end,

how much sweeter days, for our knowing each other.

Days now seek my heart and mend my ways,

like two old lovers lost in one another.

If I might again be seen as a stranger,

what hopes upon the empty canvas should fall?

More mystery, than some empty danger,

close your eyes and dream again with your heart.

Listen, that you might hear fortune's call,

to see what favors love might impart.

The conversation, love's consolation,

begins the new dialogue, binding our obscurity.

A tale of silent words and of quiet elation,

we search for who we are to become, who we are.

In the quiet details of our hidden curiosity,

you are my secret light, my unseen star.

A quiet whisper in the morning mist,

a good day, dear friend, in early morning light.

Touch my hand, that I know I still exist,

to know I am who I am and so I might always be.

I am carried away in so many words I write,

a starry eyed dreamer on the starry sea.

Brian Francis Hudon

July 2, 2019

Father

I chart my own course among the stars,

to travel among the celestial fields I've sown.

I will write my own sounds upon the bars,

which live upon these pages to be often heard.

You were forever absent when I was alone,

were never sought when conflict stirred.

Not once a spoken a word of wisdom,

only the vacant silence of your indifference.

I was the prince and king of my kingdom,

the only heir in my private world of discovery.

The lack of your memory was deliverance,

and my own love of life and my mystery.

I've long been a man of a father's age,

and you, no more real than when I was a child.

I am my own man and the world my stage,

and I'm the child of wonder and imagination.

You are but a shadowy figure in the wild,

an unknown antagonist, an accusation.

Father, what I will not become is you,

should my life and love so bless me that way.

I shall not do those things you would do,

leave both a woman and a child like a stranger.

Before all which I love so, I turn you away,

with indifference,  rejecting my anger.

Life is beautiful as it comes into being,

it finds comfort in the face of one we love so.

Strength is more in giving than in needing,

there is but one to whom I own true affection.

Thus hope fills my heart and mind as I go,

she fills my life,  offering me direction.

Brian Francis Hudon

June 11, 2019