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embers demark old scars

carved

on oak soaked root’s battled heart
bark sharp piercing battles hard

never lost to a first win-
ning, brimming breath

aft submerged
then coming up
for air

loose from
the teethy grip
of grinning death

rock bottom cut me low
sore, sodden, against my row
r-oarful like broken paddles woe

when I reached out
from the drunken
drizzle’s drought

my dreams were all sunken
fried until my thoughts of;

You

holding my adult finger
in your tiny hand first-
born again
removing any, all and every doubt
in your beam my light for life
imbued

© poormansdreams

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