This morning I woke and said I can’t believe the monster is dead I hadn’t remembered the anniversary of my father’s death two days and twenty one years ago Passing is a better word as in passing the baton like all men with batons whose guns and fists form imprints on the cells of those in their path on their road to glory Their imprint forever shaping lives residing in blood the eyes and ears and the soil and soul of home and homefullness Monster not the best word resting as it does on impotence and rage Let us speak from above from our own tongues disappear them from the pages of His story while we write ourstory and fly, as the song says, like little sparrows
Very powerful. The transcendent last part is so beautifully full of hope. Thank you x
Thank you ❤️
'whose guns and fists
form imprints on the cells
of those in their path'
Wow.
So incredibly powerful, deep and moving. Beautiful writing, Margo.
Thank you! 💖
Hug!
🤗
Thank you!
I'm sorry you had a father like that but fly beyond him like a little sparrow
😘
thank you for the share, I enjoyed the read,
Thank you, Samuel!