Poetry
I sit on the edge of your bed
and watch you leak
small drops of life.
I’d rather do than be,
waiting, hovering,
trying to interpret
what your heart mumbles
between your slurred words.
Like a beachcomber, I search
for tiny wave tossed treasures.
Then leave for home - empty handed -
and pray for the tide to turn.
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Very touching and written with incredible wording. You took me there (back) to my dad... wonderful imagry.
This article has been read 694 times
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