First into this world, so innocent and pure,
through hardships and terrors we fight to endure.
The world still gray, through colored lenses,
time eating away at our five senses.
The old woman, hunched and defiant,
proves the strength of which I am silent.
Through so many years of friendships and love,
can be seen by all who dwell above.
I speak not of Golden Gates,
or a winged angel set on determining our fates.
Instead, I speak, of the world around us,
the energy of which we've sprouted;
the not-so-equivalent of heaven and hell, but a place of freedom far from judgements,
where in every wrinkle of her face, her hands,
she sees another memory of another man.
Her father, her brother, an enemy, a lover;
gone to the grave but grave it is not.
With consideration, a flower she pulls from a pot.
A sparkle in her eyes, a smile on her lips, as she sits,
waiting for sweet release.