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Connie Buchan Sep 2013
Every day, I think of him.
I remember his sleek blonde hair.
The way he would swing his head to the music
And his flaxen locks would flow.
The way I would stroke his head
To comfort both him and I in troubled times.

Every day, I think of him.
I remember his dark blue eyes.
The way they twinkled when he was happy
And the way they cried for relief when he was ill.
The way he could look into your soul
And search for that special way to connect.

Every day, I think of him.
I remember his soft, pure skin.
The way it never changed as he grew older.
It was peaches and cream
And felt like silk to the touch.
It is one of the things I miss the most.

Every day, I think of him.
I remember how he would wrap himself around me in his sleep.
The way he was unable to accept closeness in the wake of day,
His will would give way to the love of a mother.
As I cradled him in my arms,
My heart would ache, knowing this was a fleeting moment.

Every day, I think of him.
I remember our life together.
The way we strengthened each other
To tackle whatever lie ahead.
The way we taught each other
The meaning of unconditional love and acceptance.

Every day, I think of him.
Every day, I miss him.
Every day, I love him.
Today, I honour him.
Connie Buchan Sep 2013
Off I go to the Land of Nod
Where reality sleeps and dreams are God.
Where waking thoughts slip away from me
And hidden fears the braver be.

'Tis a world of light and suspended form
Where changing scenes become the norm.
My mind revealing a secret held,
Not wanting to see where the demon dwelled.

A message veiled, the truth untold
‘Til I am ready to face the cold.
The cold, the stark, unsheltered truth
Was hidden from me in my youth.

Laid out only when I am ready.
Now I’m strong and finally steady.
A voice inside me knows the time
To bring it forth in pantomime.

To weave the tale, show it all.
Only then will the blinders fall.
My eyes are closed but yet I see
What my waking mind has hid from me.

— The End —