What It's Worth
Ever his little girl ...
She knew her daddy, suitably
The demons, the defeats, the drudgery and dreams
(Dreams, deep and delirious as substances demanded)
No year of hers was sans disappointment or broken vow
His life was a Stradivarius without a master hand
The edge of creative brilliance, rusted by tears
Potential of a rare and exquisite temper
Ravaged by emotional paralysis and parody
Little to redeem, and naught meant for pride
Still, love saw fit to hold his hand, cooling
As his last breath left the day
Only her lips, the grace ...
To kiss his eyes.
~ 3rd Place ~ in the "Strand No 680 Any Form Any Theme" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
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