My sister was a major league hockey player
My mother was a twirler of batons
My father greeted people at the front door
My uncle drove a spaceship onto shore
My childhood was an empty crabshell of pale blue sky
My knighthood never conquered as it should
My boyhood failed to launch me into manhood
My battles won and lost are on display
I walk before an audience of many
I tremble at the feet of just one man
My mother was a battle-weary warrior
My father greeted people at the door
My brother blamed his misery on temptation
My father’s father played the violin
My passion hears the voices of the innocent
My music strains to echo in their call
My body fights the spirit tooth and nail
My prayer is with the victory of the Holy
I walk before an audience of many
I tremble at the feet of just one man
© Chris Bischoff