You’re Going to be a Father

A gray wind flies, a leaf turns over, 
The trees rustle over the humble ground 
Broken by water that leaks through cracks 
In the surface, like a rough piece of glass 
Shattering in the darkness, isolated from the rest. 
You've waded through the trenches, the swamps, 
The thick shrubbery of branches draped by bills, 
Tests, injuries, thieves hiding in the moss, 
Parasitic fruits you thought were nutritious,  
Only to be salvaged by sporadic gaps in the canopy 
That kept you moving forward, to better places. 
 
Yet in those woods of emotional turbulence, 
Those blown-down towers of timber too weak to 
Withstand another powerful gale, a sliver of light 
Peaks through the angry clouds above, 
Silencing the tumult of your familiar despair. 
The light is a premier showering of love 
Broadcast from the highest pillars of grace, 
Irradiating all the bleak memories, dark secrets, 
The eons of heartache minimized by time, 
The aggregate mounds of the losses you wept, 
Every disappointment smothered by the weight, 
Every sensation diluted by the lessons, 
A deliverance from every dark and dangerous 
Corner of your life, announced by the revelation: 
You're going to be a father.