The waters cold and it let's you know
the joy of life ,having a soul
we trade danger for love
you make me see so clearly
how you bring the beauty I crave so dearly
all the feelings I lost to drugs came back at once
sweet mother of the river ,washes away my sin
you tell me its alright to feel comfortable in my skin
I'll always see you when I can ,the way you hold me in your arms
They all thought wrong ,I am a horse but of course I learned to carry what I was forced to haul
I stay processing thoughts ,looking into the reality of us
when you feel distraught just find some water and speak your truth ,watch it all bloom
About the Creator
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Reaching Out
I promise her. I'd do anything for her. She's my mom. Even as Lanie and Deanna are flying home, Mom is scrappy fighting dying. She lays too still in that too-big bed with all the toasty white hospital blankets, in the south tower, at the broad end of a long slow-turning corner that delivers me again to her private room with the view she can't see through, with the beeping that tells us nothing new, and all these ice chips she can't swallow, and a flood of well-intentioned nurses who cannot do a damned thing all the same.
By Christy Munsona day ago in Fiction
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