‘Until He Dies’ and Other Poetry by Brad Lussier

Until He Dies

With hollow bones a bird learns how to fly
Not once despising frame all delicate,
But pushed without the nest his wings to try,
Fast finds the air till flight’s inveterate –
And pauses not to ponder nor to care
How fragile are his limbs amidst his flight,
But boldly lifts his wings against the air
And mounts the wind all ignorant of fright.
And so each day, until he dies, he lives.
He soars aloft, aloud, and all replete,
Content with gifts that his Creator gives,
His weakness making all his life complete.
Who curses frailty wisdom needs implore,
For only those whose bones are hollow soar.

A Drowsy Daughter at Dawn

This morning I rose early as I’m wont
And took my seat in corner as I do
And waited for the dawn to bring his font
Of colors all appropriate to you.
And he arrived with palette and with brush
And sleepy-eyed crawled over window sill
And on your cheek prepared to paint his blush
But stopped, withdrew his hand, and stood stock-still.
All rapt, he stared a moment, sighed, then bowed
And turned to make his exit as you slept,
But thought the better, and himself allowed
Just one last look ’fore o’er the sill he crept.
Who once beholds your beauty e’er repines,
To linger long nigh charms no art refines.

Brad Lussier, a native of Rhode Island, was educated in Providence, Newport, and Boston in a variety of disciplines, including literature, computer science, and theology. Having traveled the world as an educator and later as a professional chorister, he now enjoys occasional tours as an actor. When he is not working, he enjoys playing fingerstyle guitar for an audience of one – his 19 year old yellow tiger cat, Rafael. Together they make their home in Orleans, Massachusetts, where Brad continues to enjoy writing sonnets in his spare time.