The CurseA Poem by Satoshi IroTzuBlue was her color that mornin` I followed with my black right after my yawnin` She put a tea on the stove I was in our bed, hearken a steam in my soul Then I buttered us two slices of bread She sat Face in her palms, wishin` to be dead Me, a wordsmith in a silence just a nurturer in a darkness She wailed her hug looser with every tear through her shattering pain askin` me and God unsolvable "why?" You see, my dear friend yesterday our month old daughter died
© 2016 Satoshi IroTzuFeatured Review
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Added on October 26, 2016Last Updated on October 28, 2016 Author
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