The Son of My Right Hand

Winter came, and held fast, but just

before the cold season seemed to drag itseslf away,

a new person emerged from the frost like a blooming lotis.

This happened during a dying fire's flame, the burning of a bridge

that lead to nothing but his downfall.

Maybe it was newfound purpose; finally something he could live for

that was more than just "the dream"

Or spiritual life to drown the munane. A life he hoped to find. Was it fate or chance?

God could only know, all that mattered was he was in the right place at the right time.

Or was that all that mattered?

He walks head high, and has abandoned his shame; he's not hurting anymore.

Son of my right hand, oh how you lamented of the rain in December! Floods kept

the wheels on the river turning over you. Oh how silly that seems now that you can love again!

You remeber what it was like to live! You even remebered your name!