Withered Rising
Withered hands that have lived a thousands lives over,
hold me above the sinister ways that life has tricked me.
A grandfather with the weight of the world on his shoulders,
selfless skin tearing itself off again and again, in my time of need.
A grandmother brimmed with hope in every way,
heart glowing with an overflow of spitfire and mellow ways.
An upbringing of jagged edges and congested endearment.
Whispers from the sincere lips, that all would be okay, I find to be my only escape.
A mother with skeleton keys for fingers and hands, heaviness caving in with each breath taken for me.
A father who I can no longer recognize,picture fading faster than his mind did.
An arising of tattered lies and battered promises.
Arms wrapped in an unusual fashion to conceal me from the world.
Hands playing spiderwebs along my eyes, my only blanket against the turmoil.
Sunlight invading a windowless room of my mind, where my skin can finally speak for itself.
The nurturing of sheltered wounds and cushioned mentality.
Simple notes tipping the atmosphere in melancholic seasons.
The only voices that can soothe a shattered vessel,to sew the barriers of a rib cage back together.
Country rhythms the first to entice a soul, lyrics spiraling out hopeless promises.
The blooming of diverse tunes and rattling pipes.
Arms wrapped in an unusual fashion to conceal me from the world.
Hands playing spiderwebs along my eyes, my only blanket against the turmoil.
Sunlight invading a windowless room of my mind, where my skin can finally speak for itself.
The nurturing of sheltered wounds and cushioned mentality.
The flourishing of knitted flesh and stitched thoughts.
Copyright © May Garner | Year Posted 2019
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