She Speaks, Too
Eyes bright, back straight and tight
Head held high, what a guy
Detriment, excrement
Wiping at the dust that's in your eye
Shame, embarrassment
Your pose is rather obvious
A too large smile, a wracking laugh
Mental storm tempestuous
There's no way to hide
Who you are inside
Not very well
Not for very long
You can try
To write your feelings down
And turn your pain
Into a song
But can we take
These angry Demons
Trade horns for wings
And angels make?
Can we turn our ears
From angry cries
And do what's right
For it's own sake?
Can we light a lamp
Of understanding
Shedding light on mistakes
That lie in our past?
Can we hold
To bright ideals of truth
Lean on strength unseen
Yet, a strength that lasts?
Can we spear ahead
Through ranks of doubt
Arriving sound
Of battles made?
Can we tenaciously
Seek dreams
Whilst enemies hound
And daylight fades?
Can we ultimately
Find peace
Final words
Having been said?
We can!
...I think we can...
Hearken to an angel's cry:
She said, "Wasup?" And a smile bloomed on your face.
And morning, though late, unfolded lightly in your heart,
Even as demons raced to make her words dark.
But she sits with me; she is there, presence comforting.
She spoke because she saw my tears; wanting me to know that she was near.
Thank you, my angel. I wish I knew your name.
Copyright © Brett Teal | Year Posted 2016
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