PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I come home at day’s end

handprint of sadness on spackle

over my cracked walls,

not yet dried.

Then I lie back in my tan easy chair

breathing you in, savoring like

the last drop of coffee.



Your hand glides up and down my back

then drifts across my forehead,

dismissing strands of  blonde;

your wand of heaven mends.

Ethereal your voice

as you whisper:  “It’s

okay; you’re safe now, I’m here.”

Than asleep I fall, anesthetized

by a cherubim’s smile;

full of your grace.



Fran Hinkle

3/31/03