if all you tear
from age-old skin
is a shard
of broken glass
then how
will bravery
flow, through
tired brows
my dear
look me in the eye
and profess
i am not crying
for crying
is for the meek
and do not sing
as dawn cracks
heavy
for i raised you better
than to be a fool
frolicking in the grass
Comments
A Spartan father
it would seem. We've never met, so greetings.
Mind over Matter!
my father an old hard rock but with humor
unlike I a mothers boy
pampered and coddled
the hardness came years later
cut my feet on splinters and glass
Ouch!!
tears....those they taunted and brought
on...
toughened to a large degree
practical but I still sing much
aware of the top..the trenches
the bitter lands of lah in between
the stillness of boredom
and the cry of battle...
A Moving poem
Thank You!