He stormed into the room and a smoke screen descended Across the paper thin surface of His eyes, Thick burgeoning clouds Hiding every vulnerable thing, Concealing the knots of pain That he unties And whips across my face In anger. Little son, why? You are too small to suffer such possession, Such a blank canvas stare, As if you were no longer there.
There have been cataclysmic shifts inside your world, And perhaps you feel as if you have no control, But this darkness, It is feeding off the edges of your soul And I am practically on my knees Begging you to curl Back into me, Like you did in the days before
You were born.
Please let me love you out of this sadness.
I would sacrifice each of my limbs, And more, Just to know the right way to guide Your little spirit Into the light, And far away from the lingering threatΒ Β Of storm clouds Across your eyes, And their depths, That should be only Innocent.
For my little son. I don't like it when you're not ok, but I will love you through each and any storm.