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Mom

My cloak is no match for your brown eyes
You see my everything, no way to deny

Everything bare and naked like bone
Your warmth overwhelms my cold eyes of stone

No place to hide or runaway
Your arms scoop me up and carry me away

The scars I so desperately mask
You see right through, never meant to last

From the freshly painted crimson tares
To the lines that are barely there

With the hands that match my own
You heal me with more love than I could have ever known

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  1. Date: 9/22/2012 12:34:00 PM

    The poems you write for Mom are lovely, a cherished treasure, love debra