Dust
Greeted, needed, he moves around the room,
Each requires a piece, just a very small piece,
As they chip away the lining of his enormous heart,
Not one sees the resulting holes.
Please help, do this, be here, don’t leave,
His gift becomes his curse,
How can they not see the toll it takes?
The light in his eyes flickering, faltering.
As he slows the ride that’s run for years,
Light floods back into his soul,
It’s time to rebuild what was carved away,
Before all that’s left where he stood is dust. *
*I wrote this poem as a gift for a dear, dear friend back in 2011. With his permission and blessing, I am sharing this today. B.C., these words are as true today as they ever were.
barrelmakersdaughter 