Those Born Of My Seed

With tears i write this haltingly
i cannot see i cannot breathe
while those that are born of my seed
are far from me.

I want to touch i want to see
the hands the hair the honesties
that unlike flickered memories last
moths in a flame and floating past
are hosts and hosts of glorious gold
the tales the sights the thoughts untold
the did you did i stories when
you hold onto the moments then
you smile and laugh and closely say
i am happy that you are that way.

With grief i write this haltingly
i cannot cry i cannot feel
while those that are born of my seed
are not with me.

by David Keig

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