But the hand of fate, in the form of a loving adoptive couple, saved me.
Abandoned before you here
two desperate needy children
clad in the colors and worries
of their brutal lives
torn shirts
of melancholia’s hues
buttoned in the black of loss
the jackets of pain
are sorrowful blue
threadbare
wrinkled
dirty
the pants are tattered
in shades of despair
belted in the stretched leather
of struggle
buckled in the deep-scarred burnish
of hard knowing
faded and patched
seams unraveling
strained with strife
they are deeply stained
with anguished tears
and the unseen blood red
of raw violence
of heartbreak
shoes scuffed with fears
laces broken
or knotted with regret
roughcut
by the blade of burden
these are the fabrics
of their lives
blended in the palette
that defines sorrow’s essence
by these colors
and textures
you know them
raggedly sewn
with woeful tales
profoundly moved
I dress in their stories
patterned and purple
as night terrors
*
rob kistner © 2021
Poetry at: dVerse
This line, “I dress in their stories patterned and purple as night”, from Kimberly’s Blaeser’s poem, “When We Sing of Might”, is incorporated in my piece.