Kind hands learn to be calloused hands
under the thumb of others,
and around the fingers
of heathens mistaken for lovers.

You being mine, and I
yours; is being sewn to each
in only three words.

life before the pages being written
is potential

Life in mid-sentence
is a form book

Life after publishing
is homage

Tough circles
.
are
a piece of cake

This is what I know of strength;
Its running headlong into detractors,
standing in the ring while the smoke clears,
then embracing the epiphany
when you can admit to yourself;

'I didn't know I had that in me.'

Slouched atop the bookshelf resting his fluffy head
against much loved Rudyard Kipling's finest.
He watched the day to day stories of King Anthony
'The child ruler of the world' and his beloved younger sister Anya.

Avoiding arguments downstairs in the dying segments of daylight,
the boy's reassurance to Anya showcased rare moments of humanity
not seen by Little Weissel's beaded eyes since occupied Holland.
Amongst his stuffing was still memories of his first best friend,
in which many a day was spent quietly hiding away,
listening to the sound of boots roaming around the house.

King Anthony reached his hand out in full view of the aged bear's face
and plucked him from his perch.
As warm as the bear felt to him, he felt to this plush relic, whose eyes
would dilate in the melt of such moment if only they could.
From his arms passing down to her trembling ones;
she was looking for solace in the wake of mother and father's quaking
voices in the kitchen.

For Little Weissel it seemed like 'what was old is new again'
and now after spells after neglect he was experiencing a second
lease of life.
As the war downstairs fizzled out into quiet evening, King Anthony and Anya were locked together, both tenants of sleep with
Little Weissel just as lovingly clung to as the first moment he'd been clutched.

Maybe in the new harsh terrain, the scabby mass of the little bear
could once again feel the need to be needed as any good plaything deserves to be.

For all your frustration,
go bellow into the ear of the wind.

For all your unrest,
go whisper into the crush of the sea.

For all your aches,
Go sigh into the sheets of your slumber.

For all thoughts shouting in the night,
Go Find an ear
that gives you the time of day.