the child that i thought was grown that i
thought had gotten through gotten past
gotten over...the same child i mourned the
loss of and that was buried so many years
ago in a field of withered clover, the child
whose memory, thought, and feelings i've
carried for so many long years.
his bones still break, his eyes still shed
tears. the child that i thought was grown
that i thought had runaway so far in my past
that he could be forgotten, the child that
was left alone...his scars can still be seen
his wounds still bleed his heart still aches
his cries can still be heard. the child i
thought was grown, has finally come back home.
July 2003
No comments:
Post a Comment