That’s wrapped up in him
I watch the 18 year old.
A most perfect rocket
In between the Lab and space
Crafted and invested
With all the explosive creative genius
I had to impart.
A high octane cocktail for fuel =
Nurture + Nature + Free Will + Sovereignty.
Elegantly, and with an air of casual
He stands out of reach on the launching pad.
Close to the final countdown that will launch him into his future.
Yet, despite his vitality
And talent
And intellect
The engine at his core
Won’t yet ignite.
What gravity has kept him so weighted to the ground?
Afraid to dream
Or work for a dream?
The tools I had to tinker with
To fine tune or tweak
Are proving useless now.
So I put them aside and dig out the binoculars.
Breathless, I watch.
4-3-2-1.
Thank God the engine has ignited! He's soaring.
It's been a good first year on his own at
Cal Poly San Luis Obispo.
The binoculars are put away
and have to use a telescope now.
I asked Tyler for his permission to publish,
"Fore sure. I've been out of the house for a year. Long as it ain't naked pictures of me as a baby, you can put it out there.
You can add in a prologue about caffeine and power bars being the fuel of a sputtering space craft as it tries to maintain an orbit of sanity staying up late working on college papers...
But yeah, it's a good poem! It's fun to read now that it's not about the present me. - Ty"
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