High pitched voice sounds echo
voice of a near two year old boy, talking
oceans distance between us, the world,
my son brings tears, my heart breaks with joy.
Missing you, my son, your wobbly walk
your hop jump on the living room chair
Smiling, dimpled cheek glowing in glee
unrepentant happiness for such simple pleasure.
brittle sound carries my thoughts to you
synthesized echoes of my heart breaking at the time
past moments lost as days become months between.
Closing, my mind sees your dirty little hands,
brown, soft, strong in miniature size
Grasping, clutching, greedily
my hands open in my dreams.
View User's Journal
Countless Thoughts have been Lost throughout the Ages to the minds of Madmen and breathless whispers of the Dead. Man has come a long way from the Age of Thoughtful Words and Script. This is my dedication to those who have been Lost along the way.
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