Tuesday 4 September 2012

Unsecured

Bleary-eyed,
I sit awake. 
Knowing trouble is sleeping
And wondering how the morning will go. 

His little aching heart
Is finally resting in the night,
Enveloped by a fortress
Made like the buildings of this country. 
Scaffolding made from long wooden poles, filled in by
Bricks baked in clay ovens, and
Covered with cement made by crushed stones. 
Smoothed by hands to make it seem like all is strong and resilient. 

But unlike the buildings that will stand for years,
His walls are made by patchwork,
Piecemeal. 
And bit by bit I will endeavor to dismantle
His fear
Of being hurt
Because he loves. 

Tomorrow we begin again,
He and I,
This demolition and reconstruction.

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