Email Poem

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Poem

In silver, with wisps of hair blown to wind at all times,
I straighten you.
Tie askew, collar turned, shirt with two fresh stains.
For, I have adopted you as mine.
A father to the fatherless.
It was quite in the moment that you loved me, that I loved you as well.
So, how can it be that the heart of a man that pumps nothing but generosity could be clogged?
How inhumane is the one who cracks ribs and breaks into this vault of unknown good deeds, even with honorable 
motives?
I shudder at your worry and traverse miles to be close to your voice
and you pass over my imperfections with "I love you's".
You take my hand, engulfed in yours, and smile.
If every scar upon your arms would speak out in it's voice,
we'd all be dreaming of fighter planes and cockpits with which you tangled.
For your scars are brilliant white with the history of wars which broke before my birth.
It's with this knowledge that I beg you to fight for the scars of a mended heart.
For we both know the physical is but a sigh of your existence.

Permit me please, once more, in the smile of a windblown day,
to smooth back your hair for you -
to straighten the world in a single gesture-
for in this simple action, sorrow lays complacent at our feet,
and the scars of yesterday are silenced yet again.
For you are the bravest and strongest of men,
and I can't taste tomorrow without you.

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