The God of Little Things

Mummy wrote this poem a few weeks ago
The god of little things

You are blind to my day to day miracles
You ask for proof as thomas, hurting himself with meaningless blood 
You want something grand, that makes stop the world, stop gravity, men's laws... And you say that faith moves mountains.

But mountains my son are made of sand, so are your hands and your dreams.
Atoms, protein, cells, small things invisible and magical
I offer you daily miracles as the touch of her little hands on your chin
Her smile that stop your tears from falling, her wise eyes that worship me in all my Magesty small as I am.
You ask for years and I give you a lifetime, a meaningful second, hours of love that will stay after the skies fall.
You ask me for certainty and I give you the freedom of the minute you live in 
You ask me for answers but I give you the wonderment and the thrill of the unknown in all her beauty
She moved her hips today as the waves, as the hours as the rocking of mother earth in her womb
You asked your questions and I gave you my answer: love, human, imperfect, magnificent, breathtaking love, for your seed, for her earth, for life with it's everyday tiny miracles

I'm the god of little things

Maybe if you help to find a cure for SMA the world could save my mum's bad poetry :) make yourself a favour and donate
www.justgiving.com/estella-sweetman-lopez