Liam Connors

For Mom.

Almost into my twenty-sixth year,
I wore a shield upon my chest.
Only with it could I rest,
Protected from all that I’d feared.

Often I felt it a burden to keep,
Its weight pressing me to the ground,
Too bright, too easily found,
Yet it did keep me safe as I’d sleep.

Even as it grew weak, as the wood
Cracked and the screws gathered rust,
It did what it needed to, just
To grant me the protection it could.

And so, I had this security,
An armor to get through my days,
In a world so filled with dismay,
And see through it some sense of purity.

Yet soon, I knew, the time should occur,
The day it’d cease to insure me,
When my shield could no longer endure the
Blows it had taken to keep me from hurt.

But all that I did, and I’ll that I’d known,
The days of anticipation,
No matter how much preparation,
I’d never find comfort in being alone.

But finally, the day arose,
When that which had kept me from all my tormentors,
Had whittled away, had split through the center,
And left me completely exposed.

And though I cannot say I’ve healed,
I’ve learned to build my own resistance,
To fight for myself, without any assistance,
And for that, I must thank my shield.