He was a King

He was a king

His eyes look the same,
Blue like the skies, and bright as a flame
they look like my Mother’s were, happy and kind

Now in his presence it is her that I find
Still a child, still existing, without the abrasions of time

What is held in a picture, only he can describe
What was held in a person, who once was divine
His memory still holds her and keeps her alive

Now in his presence, who she once was survived
Still a woman, still unbroken, enjoying the ride

His movements and speech
Preserve a fading memory
A woman of mystery and depth, which rival the sea

Now in his presence what was dark can be seen
When I was a child, he was a king

Kelly Curiel
December 14, 2004

Dedicated to my Uncle Bob