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shards of broken glass

if all you tear
from age-old skin
is a shard
of broken glass

then how
will bravery
flow, through
tired brows

my dear
look me in the eye
and profess
i am not crying

for crying
is for the meek

and do not sing
as dawn cracks

for i raised you better
than to be a fool
frolicking in the grass

Style / type: 
Free verse
Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Review Request (Direction): 
How was my language use?
Editing stage: 


it would seem. We've never met, so greetings.

W. H. Snow

A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds. Percy Bysshe Shelley

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my father an old hard rock but with humor
unlike I a mothers boy
pampered and coddled

the hardness came years later
cut my feet on splinters and glass

tears....those they taunted and brought
toughened to a large degree

practical but I still sing much
aware of the top..the trenches
the bitter lands of lah in between
the stillness of boredom
and the cry of battle...

A Moving poem

Thank You!

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