She couldn’t see me.
Her blind side
was on

She couldn’t see me
the heat
of her past
by booze
and marijuana
smoke rings.

I stood invisibly,
observing this curiosity,
two feet away…
a hundred miles
makes no difference
when she has her past
to shut away.

The tang of liquor
scented our shared air,
made me ever so more
of how I drank my last drop
so long ago.

I am looking
at someone
who is looking
at never
what was taken
by men
who looked
and only saw
what could be taken.

She walks,
hands wave wildly,
batting away
that surface
as sobriety
begins to stir.

Almost time
for more…

She’s a ghost
of someone that
almost became,
a descendant
of those
who tried their best.

About skymeetingtheground

Healer, poet, author, yogi, single father...outdoorsy guy.
This entry was posted in Poetry, prayer, sacred poetry, spiritual poems, Uncategorized and tagged , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to Descendant

  1. storyland99 says:

    So sad, Charlie.


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