The denim jacket hangs on the coat rack,
At the door of my grandfather's house over a decade ago.
Etched into my mind as sit at his table,
His widow still grieving.
It had a sheep skin lining,
Hanging on the hook.
A few days after his passing,
All the secrets and love unexpressed.
He grew up in hard times - father died,
Abandoned by his own mom.
Children to an orphanage,
His own demons to wrestle with.
He never recovered from the wound,
Always looking to not be abandoned.
Yet abandoned he was,
Self-sabotage that trickles through generations.
Acknowledge the wound,
Align with the truth.
Freedom comes speaking,
That which hasn't been spoken.
It stops here,
It stops today.
Express love today.
Freely give the love,
That have received.
About the Author: Brian Bucks lives on a small horse ranch in Western Nebraska and is a husband, father, electrical engineer, and poet.
Tuesday, September 20, 2016