I used to look up to him,
His towering stature overhanging
Like a canopy above me,
And I felt safe beneath him.
He was a giant with huge arms
and hands to grab mine,
pulling me like the string
on my toy boat, dragged on the carpet
and fumbling without gaining
my footing nor balance.
His eyes, opened wide and bright,
piercing through my pain
assuring me that my refuge
was here, invulnerable.
His legs, so long that, he would
leap with a brute strength
and delicate grace
to guard my small steps
and ensure I would not stumble.
My neck would ache from
constantly looking up to him...
But now time has punished him,
blood no longer rushing to his heart
and his eyes no more open
than a crack in the sidewalk.
His hands, so fragile to touch,
a tiny candle flame, flickering for life,
would burn and melt his skin,
With his arms now weak branches
unable to hold the weight of falling snow,
And his legs, too weary and used,
having walked a million miles before,
collapse into the quicksand consuming
the remnants of what used to be.
