M is the only daughter and she has four brothers. She is also the only granddaughter with 2 male cousins. This is quite a "burden" for her. At 18, she is nearly grown up. She is a very different soul than myself and often helps me to understand the social rules and intricacies that swirl about me. She is beautiful. And she does share one trait with me--she writes. And the posting today for the beginning of my new life is one of her ChristMass gifts to me: A poem.
THE LAST STAIRCASE TO THE MOON
That staircase, wound round and round
The biggest and tallest mountain
It was made of steel, fire, water and air
And it was hard to tread, that stair;
But many a person was placed on this route
And whether they liked it or not was mute.
Those who climbed had soulful eyes
And didn’t understand what it meant when someone dies;
Knowledge was their power, and wisdom their element;
Carefully they stepped one stair at a time, one foot at a time
implemented,
Reaching towards the stars they continue on their trek
Dsylexia making them at eveyone’s call and beck.
Social congruities muddle their perceptions
And this makes them terrible at deceptions.
So Truthfully they set out, starting at the beginning
With the voices of those they love, in their ears ringing;
The stairs bend and meld to the shape of these travelers;
They were born for the water like mariners
And raised for fire like those who temper steel,
Fed by mother earth, to understand how to heal.
They are the people sent to show us a better way
As we all slip into barbarism; they guide us today.
They lead us to the moon, lead us to real dreams
Just like what they were shaped by—moon beams.
THE LAST STAIRCASE TO THE MOON
That staircase, wound round and round
The biggest and tallest mountain
It was made of steel, fire, water and air
And it was hard to tread, that stair;
But many a person was placed on this route
And whether they liked it or not was mute.
Those who climbed had soulful eyes
And didn’t understand what it meant when someone dies;
Knowledge was their power, and wisdom their element;
Carefully they stepped one stair at a time, one foot at a time
implemented,
Reaching towards the stars they continue on their trek
Dsylexia making them at eveyone’s call and beck.
Social congruities muddle their perceptions
And this makes them terrible at deceptions.
So Truthfully they set out, starting at the beginning
With the voices of those they love, in their ears ringing;
The stairs bend and meld to the shape of these travelers;
They were born for the water like mariners
And raised for fire like those who temper steel,
Fed by mother earth, to understand how to heal.
They are the people sent to show us a better way
As we all slip into barbarism; they guide us today.
They lead us to the moon, lead us to real dreams
Just like what they were shaped by—moon beams.
Thank you, Princess of Fire.
