|
| |
Inner Wars
The battle in your chest
Would make a strong heart tremble;
But I braced against the test:
Survival’s not so simple.
We marched until the boots
Split seams from heavy wear;
My mother’s troubled roots
Turned gray with every scare.
The hand that gripped my arm
Was scarred from every fray;
At every step that harmed,
My heart would start to sway.
You beat time on my soul
With a weight I could not see,
Then led me through the toll
Still leaning close to me.
Copyright ©
Don Iannone
|
|