Åströmmer

Breakfast and Small Numbers after Love’s End

It used to be four
Two big ones and two small
The key number in the morning
Four breakfasts, four people enjoying it
The key number later in the day
Four dinners, four people enjoying it
The key number through every moment of any day
Always four, for eternity or so

A day came when one flew off
A violent betrayal opening wounds, changing me and my numbers
No questions presented, none answered
No explanations asked, none offered
The End, no lives lost, unexpected but voluntary

Now three is the number
One big one and two small
Will that be enough?
Will I be enough?
Can I carry two small ones over dark waters and windy seas?
A worry greater than me

Numbers grow smaller
Now two is the number

Two small ones, me watching over them in grief
Two should be protected, without them asking for it
Two should understood, without them asking for it
Two should be trusted, without them asking for it
Two should be allowed to sail free, without them asking for it
Two should have always a safe port to enter, without them asking for it

Life gives us no choice but go forth and our numbers diminish
One is to bear it all
One is to carry all that we are
One is to become what we can ever dream of
One is the lonely core
One is the essence that we all must keep safe
How can one be protected then?

Its fear, is it?
Fear of zero keeps us moving
Zero is void
Zero is a lost soul
Zero is a small one gone astray
Zero is a one whom big ones failed to save
Zero is father’s darkest nightmare
Never reach zero or you are lost

My small ones
Sail boldly
I am your safe port
Sail free
I am here now
Sail trusting
I will be here always

Never reach zero, never reach zero
I will listen to ¤Me¤ and you won’t go astray

reasonrhymer

Your "numbers" tell a story and your advide is worth thousands.

Well Done,

Reasonrhymer

¤Me¤

It's strange how ones mind can combine two others. And it is quite stranger how one can still understand. Hopefully, going astray will not be my doing. It is the key number I now miss, though, now the number isn't A number. 3,5. Half of me is there and half isn't, and i wish i could sail through, keeping MY number in line.

Through my eyes, your poetic sight if slightly different of mine, but yet combined to mine as my mind is to yours. Telepathy might yet exist

Rakastan sua.

Very nice for a first poem posted