3 From 15
Through change’s thickets,
a frayed and scratched soul bare.
But when they wanted my kids,
trust, the antidote of despair.
Mercy the sickle upon thorns,
wielded by a noble prayer.
Surprised by an Aunt.
Took her funeral for me to find
her shine, testaments to
a paragon, the selfless kind.
Legacies bleed stains
as life’s pages, we bind.
A poetry community project
betrayed its own art to declare
that for gold’s empty promise,
others mocked and did not care
Vanity’s absolute abstracts
spilled soup, scalded many there.
To Love, when it has you fight
or allows the sight to endear.
For as the vapor is a life,
our memories to disappear.
All but the three enshrined,
from the harvest of this year.
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Contest: My abiding memory
Sponsor:Viv Wigley
Written: 01.09.16
Copyright © Rob Carmack | Year Posted 2016
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