How would she define love?
Was all that I thought about...
Scattered and broken homes
was becoming rampant in the south.
I nicknamed her
a weeping referee
for the many battles she watched.
The house was the ring,
mum and dad were the fighters
and her morning chores
was to sit, cry and watch.
If love ever existed,
this was not it's address
and her clothes were always wet
from the tears that soaked her dress
Is there really a God?
If he lives, his eyes must be shut!
These were some of the thoughts I saw
as I lurked through her heavy head
The TV became her teacher
In it she saw people smile
Her iPod was her comforter
Music made her feel fine
It was as though
Bodiless armed men
Broke into the house
And stole her joy away
Her heart became a hospital
For the so many
Diseases she harboured
And depression was top on the list.
When I needed a sad poem
She was my inspiration.
Crazy thoughts began creeping in
And suicide was one of the options
But like the break of the morning
God is always on time
And for all your tears
He counted the drops
The truth is your stories of pain
Was only written in pencil
His love is an eraser
His grace would rewrite your chronicle
I know mum is gone
And dad is never home
But your real dad sits on a throne
And can make your house his home
So here is a reason to smile
A reason to hold on a little while.
The last time I checked,
You were the apple of his eyes.
Written by Esosa (Iamthinkingpen)
