Martin

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Martin (dedicated to my friend whose love for his brother, whom he never knew, is quite extraordinary.)

I stretch out my arms for Martin …
If I could, I’d have dug his well deeper,
If for me he was never meant to be,
I remain alas my brother’s keeper.

Why didst Thou my mother’s heart break?
For Martin, until her last day, she grieved
Burdened by guilt she should not have borne
Unto Thee did she steadfastly cleave.

Until this everyday, these years later,
In prayer do I call Thee in dread.
I can’t help but wonder why Martin …
Wouldst Thou had taken me instead.

I writhe in my anguish to fathom,
Thy ways in the wee hours I’ve sought
Why didst Thou decree so severely?
The pain his young death hath wrought.

Alan D. Busch
10/2/09

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Fingers, A Poem for Kimberly, My Daughter May She Always Be Happy ...

My heart leapt for you long had I waited,
for a gift of divine perfection would you mine be.
In awe was I of your tapered fingers I marveled,
when mine eyes first beheld thee.

Side by side we stood rinsing dishes,
Our moment of you and me always I’ll cherish.
Mom fashioned twin braids for you with blue ribbon
hold on tightly lest our memories perish.

A butterfly like none other fluttered by me
Sparkling pixies dancing on toe shoe,
Tiny ballerinas with balloons and candy
Nary an eye saw through tear drops of dew.

I gasped when she curtsied, my breath nearly stolen.
Such precious moments number so few
My heart did break though mend it did quickly.
I shan’t ever grow weary of loving you.

Your delicate grace will ever me inspire,
ere mine eyes your shadow yet lingers ...
of loving you I shall never tire.
Are there any lovelier than my butterfly's fingers?

Alan D. Busch
9/9/09

ben bresky poetry submission.rtf