The dewdrop fairies whisper in our ears as we walk through the garden of juvenility.

The train whistles by as we sit in moving boxes watching out the sun stricken window.

The abstract paintings speak truth as we scrub the colors from our hands.

The warm buttered butts of bread excite our taste buds as you let me win in cards.

The sobs from my mother creates fear as you get rushed to the hospital.

The beeps of machines confirm that things will never be the same as I hold your hand.

The therapist encourages as we push a shopping cart down the aisles of a fake grocery store.

The cries for help escape your soul as you try to act like everything is fine.

The heart drowns in grief as your right hand can no longer hold a paintbrush.

The days complain as the sense of magic suddenly is overturned by evil.

The nights quake in fear as your brain could fail you again at any time.

The walk pleads for help as your steps are no longer strong.

The arm insists on helping as I walk beside you.

The trees spread secrets as we walk by picking up their fallen leaves.

The flowers joyfully blossom as you become stronger.

The easel begs as you look at it in hopes of expressing yourself once again.

The paintbrush cheers as you stroke the canvas with a gentle left handed touch.

The faith applauds as you defeat all odds.

The poems reveal as you share your story.