Every morning
when I whisper thank you
in hundreds
I am surrounded
by the softness of your wings
Your strokes on my face
turn the tears
into mist
when I cry
on a sad day
When I fear another
you hold my hand
and dress me up
in an armour made out of your light
so I fight
After every battle
you help me lick my wounds
as I pray for your healing
this evening and at once
I close my eyes
As tomorrow I will open them again
to thank you
for tears to shed
for battles to fight
for licking my wounds
for feeling alive
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem