April 5, 2015

My cold feet and Mother

A kite to breeze past a psychotic make

Rain to wash through webs of exhaustive pride

Wind to firmly rock a cradling pain

Boughs to catch a falling cry

A refuge for the poor

A refuge for the weak

A refuge for my cold feet

How do you express the bitter-sweet taste of losing someone you love to the fears of your past?

Whatever your view, at last he's past this gravity.

No comments:

Post a Comment