With these fingers I can cup my child's face

by Darren   Jul 15, 2014


***found this written down, resubmitted and edited

Every single moment of every single day
I convince my mind to carry on.
To begin is to try,
to try is to begin,
I live without crying,
crying attempts to control me.

My bed is a sanctuary,
in it I am free.
My dreams chase nightmares away,
I can be somebody.

The weight of my world is a cross I cannot carry,
dragging my hopes through fresh snow,
yet leaving no trace.
I have walked this path in my mind many times,
yet I see no way home.

A shovel is an object I yearn for....
metaphorically.
For I can dig a hole deep enough
to throw all my memories in,
then a little deeper,
to bury my dreams and desires.

Do I prefer this life as a walking carcass?
Will I ever wake from this head shafting demon?

But then.........

she finds me,
expectant, love filled eyes, a smile unforced.
In her eyes I am already a champion,
in her hall of fame,
a tear escapes me, it feels ashamed.
I look at my hands, my fingers.
With these I cup my child's face and kiss her forehead.

She has shown me the way, out of my minds jungle.
At least for the rest of today.

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Latest Comments

  • 9 years ago

    by Beautiful Soul

    Using metaphorically is quite a task and the way you used it, is well done. The thoughts were outstanding at the beginning. My first instinct was to say they person is suffering from depression and it could be a self motivation poem. But its deeper than that. You are trying to fight your sadness or your negative emotions for your child. That tells me even through the sadness there is a little bit of hope inside. The shovel is a great part because of the way you used it. You think you are digging your own grave but you just want to bury the memories that haunt you. Then that spark of hope comes in... The child. Someone you seem to live for. Even if it just for a short time... I believe any happiness is good happiness. Well written!