Father used to throw away my toys
He took everything away from me,
Locked me away
In a child's version
Of prison.
A bed
A dresser
A desk
No more.
I swore one day that he would never again
have the power to take away my joy.
I created my inner worlds
I made friends far away from
The confines of my flesh
He could never take
My imagination
From me.
Some where along the way
I forgot that everything
that was important
needed to be within me.
I bore children
In rhythm
In rhyme
I bore my
Poet Child
And last Friday night
My poems,
They died.
For parents
The death of a child
Rocks you to the core
And the death
Of them
Was no different.
I have written them on paper
I have written them in pixel
And both,
In a single month
Passed away.
Just because one child lives
Does not replace the life
Of the ones lost.
I don't try to be a
Buddhist,
But life's lesson
Of impermanence
Is bearing down upon me today.
So Poet child
Left to me,
I will do what I can
To commit you to memory.