Understand

. . .

Understand 

Child, please, why do you cry?
Your teared eyes mirror me.
Past actions, memories unsaid,
Others' pain captured in your head.

I do go down each morning,
To wash the grime of time.
To fade grime time has made,
Mending a battered mind.

Hours each day while away,
Scrubbing each morning of every day.
Working a sweat, cleaning grime met,
Finding truth as I labor unseen.

Expectant, the effort gives insight,
Showing a resolute man I'd been.
Gifting a little of this Spirit inside,
Will dry your teared eyes, you'll see.

© Copyright 2010 SHEA (UN: sheamus at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
SHEA has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.