Tuesday Poem: "The Crucible"

Father, you are the blueprint of my soul,
And though I sense our parting drawing near,

The crucible of death will make us whole.

The day or hour is not ours to control

Yet even strangers read your passing here.

Father, you are the blueprint of my soul.

In paradise's fields I see a knoll

Where, shucked of flesh, we sport without a care,

The crucible of death will make us whole.

As age and weight make diamond from the coal,

So I am fashioned from your smile and tear,

Father, you are the blueprint of my soul.

I will not dread the shedding of my role,

A promise waits beyond the footlights' glare,

The crucible of death will make us whole.

So, father, do not fear to pay the toll,

I am the sun, your shadow I revere.

Father, you are the blueprint of my soul.

The crucible of death will make us whole.


The poet wishes to acknowledge the Naked Eye anthology (Western Australia) in whose pages this poem first appeared.