when i look at him
i see the burning color
that our childrens eyes could have
running my fingers through his hair,
i kiss his forehead softly
and tell our future to sleep well
when i hear his soft singing,
in the distance, if i listen,
our legacy is humming along
my bare finger is heavy
from the phantom weight
of a circular, diamond cut vow
july 30th, 2018
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Poetrythe pen may be mightier than the sword, but that sword certainly thirsts for more blood (if you like me, vote me if you love me, show me)
