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Rated: E · Poetry · Parenting · #1253272
About me, dreaming about my father.
She is shattered, Broken like glass.
That has been hit, With a baseball bat.
Except it is not a baseball bat, That has shattered her heart.
It is her father, Who wrecked this work of art.
Hoping he will come, She cries at night.
Just maybe wishing, Everything would be all right.
Her pain will not go away, She does not know why.
Laying in bed she wonders, Why can she not just die.
Knowing there is nothing she can do, She holds on for life.
Only to find, She is cut by the knife.
She begins to bleed rapidly, Coming very close to death. 
On two knees praying, Something good would happen next. 
Someone calls out to her, She knows someone is near.
It is her father, So she calls out "I am in here!"
He races to her, Kneels by her side.
Helping to uncover, The pain that she hides.
She is fading away, Rising above.
Struck by only one thing, His amazing, true love.
Now she can rest in peace, Feel the breeze in her hair.
Smiling only because, He really did care.
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