Poetry Blogs (compassionate)

I was not there when he was made
I was not there when he was born
I was not there for his first birthday

I was, there to guide his first steps.

I was there when his mother voiced her disdane and pushed him away.

For the tantrums that felt eternal

The sick days that became my sick days

I was there as his father began a new family and forgot about his last.

When he had no food to...

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A winter bite that

mocks the spring, pincers its cocoon.

A life supported?

Cease one's internal decay,

Even ice melts. Love's fluidity.

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