For The Ones We Love
I did not get to love her, not really,
not as long as I was supposed to.
Falling to my knees in a pool of her blood,
watching the life drain from her eyes
I knew I would never be the same.
My will to live evaporated into thin air
like a puddle on a hot summer day.
All I could do was sit there.
With every fiber of my being screaming
ripping apart like the atoms of a nuclear bomb.
She was my sanity, my will to live.
In a world where safety is fleeting.
So I write for her, with tears in my eyes,
bleeding onto the pages of memories.
A lead weapon in my hand, slicing into old flesh wounds
because in pain, I get to see her.
My golden-haired angel with sun-kissed skin,
infectious spirit, and bright topaz eyes.
For the ones we love,
we fight, and we dream, we hope, we move, and
we mend our broken, battered, and scarred bodies
to carry the memories of our great loves.