Beautifully Wrong

“And what,” he said,
“if I refuse to play by the rules?”

“What if I choose to love when I am old,
to laugh too loud and too often?
to tell stories when silence perhaps, is called for?”

“What if I believe God is too big for church
and refuse to leave him locked up inside?
What if I laugh with God, dance with him, and tell jokes?”

“What if I love the wrong person, at the wrong time,
if I pretend as if there are no rules
and make up the game as I go?”

He looked about, like a child. like an old, old soul.
“What if nothing matters except those we touch
and the joy we find and share?<

“What” he said,  “if laughter counts more than rules
and we are measured by the children we made smile,
and each past lover’s fond memory?”

“What if,” he said “We really are forgiven
and our pasts matter not at all? What if all this worry
has been for naught.”

“What if passion powers the universe
and decorum slowly strangles it?
“What,” he asked “if we have it all wrong? What then?”

She kissed him. “You’re silly.” she said. “Come to bed.”

He laughed. “Perhaps.
but perhaps, not.
Perhaps it is a grand experiment designed from the start

to be messy and glorious,
and bright, especially bright, with
too many colors, where failure should be celebrated

as the obvious next lesson,
and learning comes only by stumbling our way in
to heaven like love drunk sailors

who fall into church by mistake
that is not at all
a mistake.”

About this poem

Inspired by on line conversations with many of my friends at The Creative Group at Bedlam Farm, who often make me smile, laugh…. and think.

The picture was taken in New York City.

Tom