Wednesday, April 15, 2009

Daddy.



He speaks, He moves
mountains.
Every breath taking flight
to heights beyond arms reach.
Withering time, silver-gray lined.
Weary hands clasp,
knees crush the earth,
eyes birthing tears.
And mercy reigns, or rains,
restoring sullen hearts.

1 comment:

  1. LOVE the poem. Seriously love it. Keep restoring and birthing those tears, Memorie. It's what you were born to do!

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