Father - Poem by Matt Johnston
I know you are not in the best place.
I hear all your cries to me
And know even of your smallest hurt.
You cry to me at every turn
That everything might be made easy,
But I will not do this thing,
For you would not know the honey's sweetness
Without a few stings of the bee.
And some fevers may burn out the sickness
As some pain is put to a purpose.
Like needles that mold the knowing.
But you scream if any needle enters you,
Not knowing it to be what it is...
The medicine for longer life.
And not remembering
That I have not promised to prevent your tears,
But wipe them away later.
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Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
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