Poem to my Son

A child of eight years long
Years corrupted at times with anger
Fear and pain
As shadows drew close, stirring demons within
I sat up night asking, had your time so soon come

A heart so damaged fought with every beat
Body so small, so frail, how long I wondered could you fight
Almond eyes of blue glanced up as you where wheeled away
Fifty-fifty was all they would say
I remember thinking farewell, hope to see you again
Shan’t say goodbye,
Wandering would it do any good to pray or cry

It’s been ten minutes since the bus was due
I really should learn not to worry
A honk from a horn and here runs you
Hair alive in the golden sun, your eyes reflecting the blue above
A bundle of joy, forever a child
The sweetest ever of little boys
The lesson learned here and along the way
Is yes, sometimes it does do good to pray.