Marvelous Mysterious Monstrous Grown Up

I understood something today, of life and love
of the world and age and wisdom, a great gate
so big I have only now seen it receding behind in hindsight
spanning the chasms of time and creation unspooling the thread
making the ink of the words in which my story
is being crossed out and edited
and scribbled and perhaps, perhaps
written.

I have understood something, this something spinning
into the marvelous mysterious monstrous
thing we call Grown Up, a thing that comes
when one grows or regrows a soul that was lost, 
or perhaps the first time one is betrayed 
(their reaction forever determining the Type of Person
they shall become), or perhaps yet when one
softly, slowly, sets down the thing they love and says
I cannot have you, for although
you delight and adore me, we will soon break 
each other, and now is the not the most important thing 
anymore.

Or perhaps, even better, it is the first time one arrives
with roots in tow and says, here I shall make home
for here the sun is warm and the soil rich, and
it is worth losing the roaming skies and the aching
horizons for a chance to grow my fruit here, 
in this small corner of a vast and tantalizing
universe.

Or perhaps, most dangerous of all, it is
the first time you know (in the knowing 
that only the soul can) that in as much
as you hurt, so, too, does he,
and as much as before you cringed and worried and
wanted to fix such hurts, this time
all you can do is observe, for one
can never fix the hurt
they themselves have caused.

Perhaps it is all and more, or perhaps nothing more
than the weight, covering the heart in something that is
not grief nor joy, but
gravity; the ballast which centers the hold
and sets the course, the steady north
of the soul’s ship.