It burned and it stung and it hurt;
The pain our children gave us was absurd.
We were supposed to flourish and flutter
With our progeny’s hand under us.
Yet they wrinkled before their predecessor;
Age and time really is a curse.
We used to waltz into the other’s stars.
Our Utopia, laid under no rules of the clock,
As I caressed your twinkles in slow motion,
Until the young white hair decided to walk.
First,
Departed with our smile,
Our beloved Contentment.
The fresh paint of your twinkling eyes
Eroded into grey, per static moment.
Second,
Succumbed to the frost,
Our beloved Warmth.
Oh how I yearn to be embraced in our floss!
The obscure faces make shiver this moth.
Third,
Stabbed was our eldest,
Our beloved Love,
Slowly tortured into a final fetal.
The culprits, once were 2 young doves,
Until the drought claimed the final petal.
Our sentence stretches to the strength of these walls,
It’s a blessing we perish before.
I lay staring at your eroded, grey eyes,
And see our children alive behind the core.
I watched and counted and sort
The euphoric memories of our beloved lot.
A tinge told me, I was being watched
Your grey twinkled, in sparkles it splotched.
Pushed me to the ground, a gasp of elation.
Yet I continued to stare, not a second of separation.
Desperation trot out without looking back.
And in slow motion, blossomed our new pack.
