Dad.
I have died a thousand times
and in every life
you are there
staining my brain
with your coffee-colored eyes
and shaking my bones
with the white of your smile.
and no matter how many times
I kill my dreams
your blood runs through my veins.
👁 3💬 0
Something wrong with this poem?
Replies are closed for this poem.
Your Poem's Voice
See what makes your poem unique — its voice, energy, themes, and the literary traditions it draws from.
Comments (0)
No comments yet. Be the first to share your thoughts.
Log in to leave a comment.