Sacred

 

Some lives were never meant to be

Some lives should never be lived

Her tinted windows told me stories

Her accented vocal tones couldn’t

Stories- her mind has long forgotten

Or recalls and still refuses releasing

But those eyes surely witnessed

They’re events locked up in her survival

I read excerpts from the tiny drops

That flowed unmistakable akin words

Horrific words of pain she evaded using

As if to spare her tender scarred lips

The way a mother covers a child’s face

Sparing an ugliness that always remains

Perhaps, she was sparing me as well

My mind, my heart and my novice ears

The sounds; unchecked vivid darkness

We all know dwells amongst humanity

The creases that surrounded her eyes

Also spoke in micro cues; silent language

If the subject was painful; they huddled

Fluently knowing, shielding for the impact

As she depicted passages of her life, time

Every ounce of my empathy, at her disposal

My drops, my trilling but failing utterance

As I tried to express my heart felt feelings

To bring me to life, nearly costing her-hers

I’m the miracle she bore… lived to bequeath

 

Poet of the Light © 2018

 

 

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