A Multitude of Author's Notes: Yes, yes, I have lots to say. ^_^ Be ready. First, on topic of this poem: I...um...well...felt like writing an HP poem, because there seemed to be a lack of them. This is strange, yes. It's about little boy Harry and his parents and them helping him on through hard times. *nods* I hope you like it...
Okay, now onto something else. This is for any "Dead Parents" readers who are reading this: In case you're wondering, I haven't abandoned the story. School just got reeeally busy and now I'm on Christmas break and I'm lazy. ^_^ But I hope to get Part VI up by Christmas. That's my goal. But I'm working on my book and that comes first...so...um...sorry? I'm working on it! :)
Anyway, thank you if you read this and...that's it. I am done!
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. *nods* It's all J.K.'s.
Saving Grace
Spiders scuttled through the dust,
Blanketing the time-cracked board,
A little boy lay on a sheet of must,
Eyes clamped shut, praying to a Lord.
His tiny lips spoke silent words,
And his twitching eyes said a thousands prayers,
He wished his life lived in a different world,
And he desired terribly for its intricate layers.
Layers of hope and dreams and love,
Blankets of wonders and things to discover,
Wings to carry him high up above,
And a loving father, and a nurturing mother.
His tight lips curled up in slight,
And his eyes stopped twitching.
He drifted off to sleep, and his heart to flight,
As he floated on the clouds, still desperately wishing.
He wished and wished
for something of his own,
Wished for some parents
Wished for a home.
And there they were, waiting on the clouds,
Of golden dreamland and pearly heaven,
They greeted him, happy and proud.
He cried and cried, and they let him.
His mother had hair the color of blood,
And her eyes were his, smiling with love,
While his father's eyes were the color of mud,
And over the cloud his feet did hove.
They greeted him with a hug and kiss
His dad ruffled his hair, his mother stroked his cheek,
They told him how much of him they miss,
And he's happy and smiling and somehow meek.
Then time chimes, warning of wake,
And the little boy has to leave.
His mother's eyes water, but for his sake,
She doesn't cry, though she mentally grieves.
His father hugs him tightly and strong,
And smiles and encourages and laughs.
He tells him that they'll meet in not too long,
And orders him to bear his relatives' wraths.
Then the boy turns to his mother,
And blinks back tears as he tells her he loves her.
Gently and sweet, his mom rocks him to sleep,
Says goodbye with a hug and a kiss,
And tells him how much of him she will miss.
His face is calm and pleased,
As he wakes with a smile on his face.
He's not crying and so at ease.
His mother's love was his saving grace.
The prayers answered, his hopes fed,
The little boy hopped out of bed.
He dressed and pulled on some socks,
And stepped over spiders and tiny rocks.
Through the dust and unaware of the must,
In the room he does not linger.
In the kitchen, to an aunt with hair like rust,
He bears his relative's anger.
Because his heart is full,
And he's oh so stronger,
He supposes he can wait
Just a little bit longer.