A poem for my Daughter
40 years past it's prime.
These lips read truth,
the noise that is not you.
Did you, brother, become the widow's son?
The text of your next tattoo?
Completely lost, a near miss,
dear Daughter, your secrets are safe with me.
What are you counting on your fingers,
dear Ishtar? I hate
being sick, nostalgia,
waves of the past.
With fiends like these, who needs friends?
A river of steel, of molten lead, and you,
you are just a drop!
Oh Hush October, shadow of
events to come.
An imperfect curl, where society works
a broken ankle, when the melody gives way.
A sacrifice to the Beast!
When darker thoughts arise.
Hearts desires, gaps, holes,
things we want to say.
When the tea kettle whistles-
I just miss you.
Compiled by Paul Francis
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