Something is taking place. <br />Horns thrust upward from the brow. <br />Hooves beat impatient where feet once were. <br />My son, youth grows alarming in your face. <br />Your innocent regard is cruelly charming to me now. <br />You bristle where my fond hand would stir <br />to stroke your cheek. I do not dare. <br /> <br /> <br />Irregular meters beat between your heart and mine. <br />Snuffling the air you take the heat and scan <br />the lines you take in going as if I were or were not there <br />and overtake me. <br />And where it seems but yesterday I spilld the wine, <br />you too grow beastly to become a man. <br /> <br /> <br />Peace, peace. I’ve had enough. What can I say <br />when song’s demanded? —I’ve had my fill of song? <br />My longing to sing grows full. Time’s emptied me. <br /> <br /> <br />And where my youth was, now the Sun in you grows hot, your day <br />is young, my place you take triumphantly. All along <br />it’s been for you, for this lowering of your horns in challenge. She <br />had her will of me and will not <br /> <br /> <br />let my struggling spirit in itself be free.<br /><br />Robert Duncan<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/rites-of-passage-ii/
