The only quietude he’d ever known
Was throwing papers in the morning dark;
As there, in dawning silence he, alone,
Would pedal past the edges of the park.
Each paper that he’d throw would, in an arc,
Land gracefully upon a greening lawn.
The contrast to his home life was so stark,
Where all was chaos: angry, woebegone –
A home that hatred set its face upon;
But which he could escape when came the dawn
There’s no one more alive, absorbed –
At least, that’s known to me –
As when a child is drawing;
Pure creativity
Their line and color choices
Are not convention’s slave:
They draw because they want to
And don’t have to behave
The flawless decor of the rich
Can keep their sleeping kids in style;
But all of that won’t give kids warmth
Or make the moments worth the while
That they might spend with parents who
Spend all their lives on margin’s call:
While love is riches, strange to say
Mere riches are not love
At all
she said she never knew true love until she had a child and i felt hurt as men will tend to do to know that we're extrinsic to a woman's love at last reckoning yet i had learned the lessons i was taught as a child -- that men are expendable in fire in flood in war it is our job to die so the greater work can go on without us if needs make so and that women will transfer the full expression of their love always to the smallest person in the room and they'll call you when they're ready for another one maybe
You’re just a dad for show
That’s all you ever effing were:
Pretending that you care
So much about both him and her
No you cannot be bothered
When they each need you to be you —
But put on some performance when
You think
People
Can see you
It’s easy to forget
As life
Can our true goals obscure
That all you want is
For them
To be happy and secure
You ask them to behave
For you
Believe one day they’ll find
True happiness will but
Be found
If they’re both fair and kind
And yet you have this moment
They are
Here, and hale, and whole —
But you know all you want –
It might
Just be past your
Control
