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. -------------------------------------------- Contest: My abiding memory Sponsor:Viv Wigley Written: 01.09.16