avatarJonathan Greene

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life because it would be nice if my heart could learn how to beat in rhythm with the bottom of my soul so they could work in harmony instead of in distress</p><p id="2342">I wish you could water me and bring me back to life because when she died, I died, and a motherless son is forever lost in a maze grasping for a hand to hold and he learns to hold his own but he knows it’s not hers</p><p id="e918">I wish you could water me and bring me back to life because when he died, I died again, and a <a href="https://readmedium.com/fatherless-son-c987ceee358d">fatherless son</a>, who was already a motherless son, has no more hands to reach for so he stops reaching for anything and si

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ts alone, waterless</p><p id="eb66">© <a href="undefined">Jonathan Greene</a> 2020</p><p id="fad3">If you liked this, you might like this as well:</p><div id="13df" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/when-the-dam-breaks-497222183e41"> <div> <div> <h2>When the Dam Breaks</h2> <div><h3>A Poem</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/0*eUS2OO4qVgvQzDvz)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div></article></body>

Water Me

A Poem

Photo by Shelby Miller on Unsplash

I wish you could water me and bring me back to life because this cauldron I’m in doesn’t allow sunlight and without light I spend my days in total darkness which actually suits me because time disappears

I wish you could water me and bring me back to life because it would be nice if my heart could learn how to beat in rhythm with the bottom of my soul so they could work in harmony instead of in distress

I wish you could water me and bring me back to life because when she died, I died, and a motherless son is forever lost in a maze grasping for a hand to hold and he learns to hold his own but he knows it’s not hers

I wish you could water me and bring me back to life because when he died, I died again, and a fatherless son, who was already a motherless son, has no more hands to reach for so he stops reaching for anything and sits alone, waterless

© Jonathan Greene 2020

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Poetry
Self
Loss
Grief
Life
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