He carries my soul along his back, <br />half of my flesh and blood. <br />He is half of what I am today, <br />and sadly, what I will become. <br />He is the sunshine and the rain <br />my joy, and my pain. <br />But now he is just my pain, <br />breaking my heart again and again. <br />In his eyes I see fire which was mine, <br />burning on another bushel, <br />its leaves thriving in flames <br />and almost consumed. <br />Without warmth, I am so cold <br />except for she, who, like a hen <br />tucks me under her wing <br />form the bitter frost of neglect. <br />His hand is a hammer <br />which pounds the nails <br />too far into the wood. <br />His mind is a cauldron for brewing anger <br />til it strains and overflows, <br />to the hen and the egg <br />the rooster’s anger is shown. <br />An egg, so frail, threatens to crack <br />But alas, mother hen fights back <br />fearful as a hawk, graceful as a dove <br />she spreads her great wings in compassion and love <br />these feathers of courage pull the egg through, <br />til she must say the final adieu.<br /><br />Kelly Curiel<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/fragile-35/
