Jerusalem Heirloom

My father taught me to die,
when I must, like a human being.
My mother taught me to trust
and sing like a human being.

And a boy and a king, alone
with a stone, a sling and a harp
has left me the chutzpah to try

to hone and sharpen and fling
each thought and word and line
beyond the confines of time
that bind a human being.

Thomas Land

If you have any comments on this poem, Thomas Land would be pleased to hear from you.