This poem was previously published in the Dream Write Literary Journal.

Marvel at the Wonders


The sun moves slowly downward
a tapestry of color inking and feathering
through the veins of the universe.
It’s nothing altogether new for me, just
an average ordinary setting of the sun
with pigments of chemistry polluting the sky.


Granddad sits in a chair,
unmoving, quiet, inhaling oxygen,
His eyes are fixed on the firmaments beyond
the single large pane window, seemingly admiring
the many hued candles of the gods.
As he looks, I can scarcely hear him mutter the words:
“Marvel at the Wonders”


He tells me the story of a man he
used to pass by every day while taking the
dog for a walk. This man sat upon a rock, no matter
the weather. the temperature. the hour.
he sat upon the rock each night and stared at the
setting sun as it dipped its fiery liquid
beneath the horizon of a lake. Each day
the man would say to granddad:
“Marvel at the Wonders”


One day, granddad tells me,
the man upon the rock disappeared; he was
never seen again. Granddad knew not why. Presumably
there were other wonders to marvel upon, surely the same
sight grows boring after a while. Nothing new. The same life.


Granddad ends his story. His mind is far away.
I grasp his hand as I watch the memories dance
through his eyes. Nothing new. Nothing unique. Just
the average and the ordinary. The fragmented jewels of
a boring man’s life. I look out the window and watch the snakes
of memory slither silently away, chasing the sun. “Marvel at the wonders,” I say
and I turn towards granddad, feel his now cold clasp of my hand, and see
his still vibrant eyes fixed upon me, marveling at wonders.