A father rocks his newborn to sleep. He can hear the child sleeping soundly against his heart beat. He falls asleep thinking of his unborn  son crying out:

"Daddy!", he cries.
"Stay, Daddy please!" he whimpers.
"Stay for mommy, don't go with your 'family'!" he cries, felling his saddened mother's heartbeat.
"Mommy needs help, we need help," he screams as silently as he can "we need a provider!".

  As he lay asleep in his mother's womb, he can feel the sadness in her heart, see his father walking towards the door and hear them arguing day by day.

"Mommy's sad, she can't do it alone!" he begs.
"Don't take your keys, Don't take your bags"
Please don't leave, We need you to stay! he pleads.
Please stop fighting, It's not good for me!" he cries.

The father reawakens with tears in his eyes knowing that he almost left and never looked back.

No one special, just your typical teen,
Bored and alone, wishing she had a dream.
So many people in a crowded room,
Yet, all she sees are clouds of doom.

A famous celebrity on her own,
Just waiting on that right moment.
A moment for the right word, time or unknown,
A moment to be enthroned.

A talent not taught in school,
Would be the most useful tool.
Could it be her dream come true?
Or something she ought not to brew?

Plain, average and simple
With amazing talents oblivious
To all which intermingle,
Into one that made her twinkle.

"She’s smooth as water” says the pencil and the marker she traced with.
“She’s careful” says the hand that colored the blurry image.
“She’s really messy” says the multicolored stained fingerprints of multiple chalks.
“She loves to paint” says the neatly stacked by size oil paint brushes.
“Soft as snow” says the handle as it glides by the gentle breeze.
“She’s gentle” says the wet oil sliding down the paper in light streaks.
“Once I dry,” says the wet product “she will scrape and scratch my impurities.”
“A fingerprint found in a ******” identifies the scraper carving the circular parts.

“She’s gone in the wind” reminisces the finished product, the pencil and the marker, and the scraper. “We’ve been replaced.”
“She got a new best friend” says the new pen.
“It’s for the best” reassures the lined paper.

“It was a phase” mocks the keyboard and the monitor together.
“I love you” confesses the binded book full of poems, essays, and short stories.
“We feel so used and abandoned” whimpers the art, the pen and paper and the keyboard with the monitor.

“I’m sorry” apologizes the hand that wrote and painted for years.  “I never meant to hurt you”

This is just a dedication,
Not reality, just inspiration.
Why you ask? Life is like a dove,
Once it's burned, it can only be healed by love!

A sweet luxurious night
Could result in such a terrible fright.
A burden created by a seed
Will soon be loved through need.

Soon the seed's guardian will leave,
With every intention to deceive.
The dove, now knowing what to do,
Will know why he came without residue.

After some time, the burden will grow.
An angel will appear and make everything glow.
A new mother she will be
And a new love will sparkle in thee.

Burn bright, young angel when darkness comes
May your light not dwindle upon their sight,
May stars bow down and praise your might,
May the darkness recede back to their tombs!

An angel who was born from a dove
Burns bright through need and love.
Will fate be kind to the new found flight?
Or will the cycle restart with a new found fright?