29-10-2025
Older than my memories,
Younger than the creation of the lands.
You used to hold her in my memories,
Every summer's been colder,
No one really understands.
Mother I Sober,
Father’s treacheries reaching out with colder hands.
A freezing touch grows from my shoulder,
The suppression needs control,
No one really understands.
Maybe one day when I’m older,
I’ll know your touch as welcome hands.
Maybe one day,
When you’re older,
We’ll laugh together,
Again.
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I used to love you,
Maybe you were the same.
I wanted to write a haiku,
But two lines couldn’t conceal my pain.
Copyright © R.P. Grcic | Year Posted 2025
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