May

 

She was her mother's hope

Her father's itch

the itch brought the blinds

May was tender and fair

she wasn't my obsession

perhaps I was just swamped by her love

 

Grandpa's cuddle was timely,

His rod was sufficient

But there was no salve.

Really, she wasn't my obsession,

it was the boundless nature of our bond,

May was an angel.

 

The killer killed time,

Yet, our pain wouldn't budge

and the blinds wouldn't burn

Have you ever been loved?

She was like the red petals,

glowing with love.

 

The pain seeped in,

and the blinds burned,

But she was already burnt.

Grandpa's shaky hands couldn't help,

Maybe my love wasn't enough,

perhaps too ambitious.

 

Time faded, and Grace came

Brought the salve,

and balm for her wounds.

He turned her ashes,

changed her color,

May is back, brighter than the lilies.

 

 Epilogue

Like May, our stories are filled with both goodness and sadness. Joy and pain. Strength and vulnerabilities. It almost doesn't make sense, until Grace comes and gives it a decent and glorious meaning.