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Laura
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The quill was put to paper for the first time sixteen years ago,
the feather was crisp and pure,
while the ink, not quite blue, was in a bottle never opened,
and then the bottles seal was broken and the melody began.
I am the composer and conductor of her grand symphony,
only I know how each measure will begin and end,
but there is more joy with each passing note then ever before,
because now she trusts that I will make each note count.
He is her key signature,
the liquid love in life that brings her together after she falls to pieces,
and he is also the tempo I give her to follow,
so her song has a place to go.
Her friends provide the second violin melody,
without them nothing could be complete,
but if they aren’t on time with my cues,
the create a havoc that drowns out the tunes.
The demons in her life I can only protect her spirit from,
Their gnawing teeth clash against flash and bone,
I give her the only thing I can at this point,
a measures rest.
As the time passes by,
she feels my guidance on her face when she looks up towards the sky,
when she hugs him the demons go away,
and she belongs to my music again.
When her ink runs dry on my quill,
I will be here to hold her spirit in my breath,
and he will be there to hold her finished scores back on earth,
then he will become its conductor.
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030105
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