I wish I had it.
I missed it as a child,
rebelled against it as a teenager
and forgot all about it as an adult.
I flitted through marriages,
children, friends, work,
feeling heroic for moments,
but lacking patience
for the long haul.
I sit here gazing into my past,
remembering the sublime -
writhing in guilt at my follies
and when my heart is like fit to burst
I stare at a stone – ancient, veined -
from a time when prophets roamed
and spoke of love
and I feel tears stealing out.
Maybe I have reached my limits
of self abuse.
Perhaps now, as the swallows fly back
and the Spring sun warms my bones,
I can see some definition,
something akin to discipline,
threaded through the years.