Meant to be

looking for light and tolerance
dark ball sitting in stomach’s pit
longing to direct willing youth
warn them away from mistakes
made when tired was unknown
womb not heavy with experience

mother’s worry that well-worn paths
still hold sharp stones that wound

young men not compliant types
to boyhood warnings and direction
throw caution as broken boomerang
laughing at monsters under beds
no need for bandages on scrapes
as life chisels and defines into
the men they are meant to be