Composed of white light,
guardian of my dreams.
Protecting my nights,
while calming my screams.
Owner of my heart,
with abilities
to create fine art,
reliving each scene.

He whines back the hour
in any wound clock,
then proves his powers,
destroying all locks.
To fix it again,
all effortlessly,
while clicking a pen
so consistently.

Teaches me to paint
a transparent smile,
releasing restraints
with genuine style.
He wears many wounds
from battles with life,
resembles the moon,
builds towers from strife.

Together we climb,
he sews me some wings
with silk thread and vines,
close our eyes and fling.
I learn how to fly,
secure by his side,
floating past the sky,
he cures me inside.

– Grace Y. Estevez