A Pure Vision

Time finds a way, it brought us thus far.

We each play hero of our mystery

'Til death close the saga of our war --

Gentle swell or destructive rush --

As we etch our story into history.

Our soul the artist, our deeds the brush,

We know the striata our faces mar.

Events throw stones that bruise and crush.

They test our will and our path congest,

Our canvass tinge as seen from afar.

We faced dark affront or bleak contest,

Armed with insight, aplomb and knowledge.

Our mentors knew challenge and pretest

Lurking in vortex of unfolding life --

Each inspirer our fears to assuage.

Faces fade with time and obstacles rife;

But our heart carries a pure vision --

A source of strength to handle each strife.

A teacher, a coach, a principal,

Stayed with us to augment decision. 

Names vary -- Mays, Guice, Wiggins, Angel --

But grand influences go unchanged.

Each mentor whispered like an archangel

To empower us in heroic endeavors.

For each I pray joys unconstrained.

Author's Note

Each year, former classmates of high schools everywhere gather to remember the good times and bad they spent together in their yesteryear. What would you say to your old classmates about high school days and the impact on your own life? I wrote these lines and recited them at my own 50-year class reunion a few years back. They gave me a tearful ovation.