To the Wind
Squealing through the Flagstaff mountains meandering through outstretched roads of anguish that vehemently mocked my course as I traveled steadily descending into the lower parts of sunbaked Arizona, a parched desert of hell. But I was already there, burnt to a crisp, baking in the heat of my own distress. My soul had no rest, knowing that my father just lost his to the wind. And I was still snowballing down the mountains missing his last breath. Never to see his chest rise again.
The Awe of Life
He was the issue of arduous labor,
Chilling pains that rode our senses for miles. “It’s a boy” he said, came to fruition sealing our joy that day. The sight of him brightened the room squandering the night’s toil. At that moment the nurse splayed him across my chest. He sat there peacefully, at ease. Our eyes greeting for the first time. We traded breaths equally, as I stared at him in awe of life.
For poetic asides Two poem Tuesday
Write happy and unhappy poem