Shadowed in the silent room, the daylight's nearly gone
Dusk climbs in through window glass, with one last ray of sun
I start the task, climb on a chair, reach up to shelves so high
to mother's boxes neatly stacked, and dust gets in my eyes
I take one down, to look inside and sit upon a chair
I find some musty linens, laces needing some repair
Discovering old photographs, the year was '42
Her face was smooth as porcelain, unblemished, young and new
Old documents and letters, a history unveiled
Her letters, torn and yellowed, such stories they would tell
The next box held small china cups, so lovingly embellished
And then I found a book of verse, inscribed with poems she relished
Some dresses stained and wrinkled, their fabric thin and tattered
Were once a thing of beauty, as if they really mattered
Her jewelry, gold and silver, some lovely rings and brooches
A warm sensation circles me, her presence now approaches
I sense a change come over me, and fleeting leave of gloom
The darkness of the evening lifts, as sunlight fills the room
She wraps her warmth around me, her fragrance in the air
My loneliness is free to go, I know that she is there
Among these things, I find the last, the smallest box of all
Inside it are the baby clothes, I wore when I was small
A letter there to tell me that she knows the tears I've cried
Her words of love that never died, they fill me up inside
These treasures speak her words to me, and now that I am grown
She wants to tell her story, those parts I've never known
I've heard her voice, while sitting here, among her china flowers
I"ve found such peace, she's next to me, to spend these quiet hours
Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2008
Ah, memory is a fickle lover succumbing to the tide
grasping for the grains of sentiment sometimes left.
In cold or torrid waves, spent passions now abide
for you have left me, long ago, I'm now, alone bereft.
Grasping for the grains of sentiment sometimes left:
beside a roaring bonfire, where sparks on night winds glide;
for you have left me, long ago, I'm now alone, bereft.
I huddle in a dune's dark shade with nothing left inside.
Beside a roaring bonfire, where sparks on night winds glide,
we conceive a wayward child, a changeling child, a thief.
I huddle in a dune's dark shade with nothing left inside,
as the waves of age and ages, return only grief.
We conceive a wayward child, a changeling child, a thief.
In cold or torrid waves, spent passion now abides,
as the waves of age and ages, return only grief,
ah, memory is a fickle lover succumbing to the tide.
Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2012
What makes the decision
To flick the switch
To end ones life
For the sake of it
Bullied at school
Fork in the road
To let death rule
Daughters and sons
What ever affects them
They just can't outrun
Sadness and tears
By all left behind
Will they ever understand
Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2009
Amazing Grace, how sweet the taste
A song I dread up to these days
Mommy, can you hold my hands?
Show me how to make God understand?
Will you hold my hand, like when we would pray,
maybe then he will listen to the words I say!
How do I ask God, If I can keep you for another day?
I promise this time to pray for you every day
Mommy, please share beautiful words before you say good-bye.
I thank you for the shoes I've grown to love and tie
What am I going to do when I want to talk and be with you?"
Now who's gonna take care of me when I'm feeling blue?
Mommy will you still protect me, when you are gone?"
Defended me, no matter the trouble I will put myself in.
You always explained the reasons why I was here.
You also taught me, how to face my fears away
Now how am I going to find my way home?
Are you still going to whisper words, saying "I'M NOT ALONE!"
Mommy why is everyone offering their sympathy?
No one compares to your supportive heart when it came to me.
Mommy, can you make the suffering stop?
Don't you know you are all I got
Mommy, I have no cure for what is in you
All I can offer is what is in me.
I want to go and outside and play, with you
Hold my hand and take me with you to the other-side.
The place you spoke of when it came to Amazing Grace.
Your new sweet surrender resting place.
*** Mom I'm here to visit you again.
A place where baskets are offered by family and friends.
Mom, can I stay here forever with you?
Hold me the way you use too.
Mom, to you I sing a lullaby of praise
Mommy, can you hear me?
Digging deep into the ground,
There and only there can you be found.
One last breath shared with the open skies.
Mommy, can I go with you?
*to my mom*
Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2012
My thoughts they roil like waters dark
in the abyss of blackest night,
with memories of mother’s bookmark,
of Longfellow read by lamp light.
She called, in the room around me,
the patter of other small feet.
Her gentle voice fetched angels .
Oh, the rhymes, they astounded me
like lullabies soft and so sweet.
All fearsome shadows, she’d dispel.
Maxine, my queen, read Tennyson
and the Charge of the Light Brigade.
A little girl dreamt of caissons
roll, and thunderous cannonade.
To be so brave, the small child mused,
mother her precious, heroine;
what would it take to stand so strong
without father, and not confused.
What words could be the linchpin
to right mother’s tell-tale wrong.
Such sad inspiration, mother,
oh, how I wronged you by being born,
though I loved you above all others.
Some thoughts of you make me forlorn.
Bring back the tales of mother goose,
three small kittens and their mittens.
Return the vision of your smile
the happiness your warmth induced,
let your spirit comfort, lighten
night, if only for a little while.
Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2013
Clutched tight to my chest, the doll smiles lifelessly
sending vacant stares down the darkened hall.
A solitary line of pink light sneaks through a crack in the door.
Fighting tears hanging loosely in my eyes, I listen.
“Please tell daddy that I love him and miss him.”
It has been two months since he died. Long, hard months.
“Keep him safe.”
His smell still lingers on his clothes in the closet.
“and bless mommy to be happy…”
How can I be happy, or even smile, when all I want is to be numb?
The tears burn in my eyes, but I can’t cry, or I might never stop.
“so that she will play with me like she used to”
I can scarcely recall the last time I was able to focus; to give her all my attention.
“help her to forgive me,”
Oh sweet baby, it’s I who needs your forgiveness.
“help her to love me again, even though sometimes I’m bad”
Oh God, is that what she thinks!?
“and please help me to find dolly so she won’t be scared tonight”
Ok, focus…just breathe.
“in Jesus name I pray, Amen.”
Clutched tight to my chest, the doll smiles lifelessly
sending vacant stares into the room lit by a solitary pink lamp.
I sneak through the door, with tears rolling down my cheeks,
and enter with a promise, that all her prayers will get answered.
Submission for Prayertime Memories
Hosted by Isaiah Zerbst
Copyright © The Grahamburglar | Year Posted 2015
The warrior lays her weary head,
With heavy heart she cannot bear,
Burning tears stream down her face,
As whispered memories touch the ear.
Her armour tarnished by remorse,
Her battle-cry a wimpered row,
Her wounds, of which bleed solitude,
Will never know forgiveness now.
The song began two score ago,
When two came knocking at her door,
In need of refuge from the world,
Of that, and love, and little more.
Forced to fight for every smile,
Her only solace found in song,
She longed for love to rescue her,
And plant her where she could belong.
Jealous tongues are seldom kind,
Self-seeking hearts know nought of love,
The caged canary only sings,
When coaxed to praise from up above.
For the steely spine that now I own,
Forever shall I grateful be,
A gift from her, and from her own.
Courage mounted inwardly.
I'll not forget how I have loved thee,
And youthful memories I will prize,
Til on the shore of His forgiveness,
Whereto now, we both shall rise.
Copyright © Yvonne Evanoff | Year Posted 2011
A mother gazes at a painting from decades ago
a bitter sweet reminder of beautiful memories
Remembering her child splashing in the water
but so distant in his own world - lost at sea
Maybe those were the signs - that they failed to see
Recalling the day he walked away to chase his dream
leaving with so much acrimony - words piercing the heart
Was it something she did? Was it something she said?
Did he get too much attention or did he feel neglected?
Her heart is crying for you - do you feel her tears?
Her tongue is calling your name - do you hear her?
Your mother is in pain - come and heal her
Your mother is suffocating - breathe oxygen into her
Your mother prepared a painting, but the image is blank
she can picture your brown eyes and your smile - but it's unclear
How your mother longs to see your face - to hear your voice
Age is catching up on her - don't leave it too late
Since your departure it feels like she has painted only in achromatic
so forlorn - missing you like a brush without its palette
when a painter has lost her heart - how can she paint a pretty picture?
The Silent One
10 November 2015
Oil Paintings 1-2-3 any Poem form - Poetry Contest by Eve Roper
Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2015
They’d cuffed me when in error
They’d hold me when I’d be ill
They’d calm me when in terror
They’d wave to make me still …
They’d smooth my hair back on my head
Before the camera’s eye
They’d touch me when I went to bed
They’d sooth me when I’d cry
They’d wash a million dishes
They’d fold a ton of clothes
They’d help me with my wishes
They’d warm my freezing nose
They’d point at things for me to do
They’d help me with my plans
And that is why I miss so much
My Loving Mothers' … hands.
Copyright © Jack Clark | Year Posted 2014
She was at her window listening to the rain
Mind just wandering, immersed in pain
She was wondering if it was true that angels cry
Each time they see a child die
They took some tests but it was too late
It was in an area they couldn't operate
She smiled at him and hid her fear
They said at most another year
How much pain can a mother endure?
To look at her son and know there is no cure
There are no words that can even start
To soothe the pain in her broken heart
The days and nights went quickly past
The time had come he would breathe his last
Her faith was put to the supreme test
The day she laid her child to rest
She is alone and prays each day
The memory will forever stay
Sometimes in her prayers she just asks why
And she wonders if the angels cry.
From the book Voices of Hope.. Thank you Crystal.
Copyright © Vince Suzadail Jr. | Year Posted 2007
Horrid, horrid thought;
Tiny Mother reaching forth,
Reaching always to enfold,
And in enfolding just to hold.
Crying from want…and need;
Crying from loss and deed.
What to do? What to do?
I am me, and I am you?
Looking for a glint of power.
Searching, searching, hour by hour;
No Mother were you from the start.
Crying from want…and need;
Crying from loss and deed.
What to do? What to do?
I am me and I am you?
Broken waif, soul chafed;
Battered daughter, mother’s pride;
All that’s beautiful she must hide.
All that’s soft, all that’s warm, half formed.
Crying from want…and need;
Crying from loss and undone deed.
What can I do? What can YOU do?
I am me, and you are you?
Crushed like flower pedals in a fist,
Flung haphazardly in the mist.
Nasty, sour, bitter lost;
She was forced. We are forced.
Is all lost?
Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2008
To me, she could've said anything
I wanted so badly to hear her say,
"I love you and I'm gonna try."
But all she said is "I just can't stay."
She looked away, I stared her down.
I needed to see her eyes.
She looked at me and that's when I knew...
THIS IS THE DAY MY MOTHER DIES.
She died right there before me.
I watched her fade away.
Her eyes were glossing over
as I begged her "PLEASE, JUST STAY!"
She said goodbye and drove away.
I've learned to deal with loss.
But, now she says "I'm coming back!"
She doesn't know the cost.
To me she's dead, she can't come back.
She'll have to remember the day
that she died right there before me
when she said she couldn't stay.
Copyright © Mary Nagy | Year Posted 2005
The 18th of December was her last day;
she neither knew the date nor cared to.
Gathered at the hospital, keeping vigil,
we couldn't overcome her fright, or ours.
The pain, too great to be driven away,
was only "managed" with IV drips,
needles stuck in bruised appendages --
bony things -- arms and legs, hands and feet.
Above the medicines and washes, we sniffed
her scent, which, more than her yet familiar
face, to us identified our mother --
a smell we never would mistake
for any other. It went quickly
as her body cooled. The rouged and pickled
carcass they displayed was more a statue
than a person. We planned to bury her
with homely tokens, like an ancient mummy:
a family photo, a brooch she liked,
a pink hairbrush, and the brass bell she rang
to call her keeper during her last years.
But, when the time came, I could not bear
to have her leave so finally;
I took the bell from her metal box.
And, now, I ring it -- not to bring a keeper,
but to recall my mother on her birthday,
and on many dark days when I need her.
Copyright © Leo Larry Amadore | Year Posted 2011
Your face and rotting teeth and heavy jowls
and sunken breasts with bulging waist and
Your image of laughter, lovemaking, seeking
bourbon tweaked philosophies
of life begins
The hands that tremble as you tilt
the glass that begins another
Tirade thoughts, empty lies, money spent on
lipstick coated leeches who prey on
Through these wintry days pass faces long past
into what was then
while with the coming spring ...
at last! at last!
One can remember
and want no more
what could never be:
Copyright © Sue Mason | Year Posted 2007
The moon so bold seems cold
with a halo of midnight glow
I sit mesmerized as the night grows old.
I bleed still, even after all these years
and I wait again through the night
aching in the depths of my soul
that no other seems to know
the Loneliness that has become my companion.
In the darkness we wait and confide in the other
our deepest fears as memories fade
in and out each season of change
the nostalgia tempers the wars of pain
this tempestuous foe of ours
wails at the gates of midnight
howling the warble of humanities last grace.
How the comfort of minds and hearts
turn from light to deep dark in the face
of eternities long time clock...
I ache with wanting, with need and passion
it is a lie that time heals and wounds scar
each night is fresh like the first
when I faced realities shock.
Who can wait with me?
Who can hold this hound at bay?
Who can cherish what little love left in me
and make the broken whole?
I ache to be loved again as the love that burns
and waits inside of me.
Who can comfort this emptiness and fill the void
that so many leavings have left?
Cherish and love to honor and protect
but who can slay these demons that hold my heart in wrath?
Who will walk the sulfur clouds of hell to save my mind
and deliver my world to the gates of heaven
with life, not death bridging the distance of pain?
I sit and wait at the floor of the moon each night
waiting for that bridge to carry me yonder,
this moon who hangs heavy and ripe with the yearning of my soul
with clouds aglow as if I could sweep them across a canvas
with the brush held in your hand
I rage at her as I wait, but still I wait and weep
as Loneliness and I keep each others company
wishing the clouds of that great moon could truly create
a way to find the lost, a pathway to home, lit by the legacy our love.
Copyright © tara jennings | Year Posted 2013
Why do I have all these bad thoughts in my head,
the worst one of all is wishing I were dead.
Every morning I wake up the thoughts are still there,
the more I sit and think about them,the more I just don't care.
I have been trying hard,for things to be the way they should,
maybe if I didn't care so much for once in my life I could.
My MOM was always number one in my life,but now that she is gone,
it has been hard for me to be able to move on.
Copyright © Colleen Bono | Year Posted 2010
I woke up one day
The sparrows were chirping
Did not mind me between
I poked them gently
The sparrows got scared
Seeing them fly
I went mad
I ran out into the streets
Naked and free
Hurled pebbles on passersby
Watched them flee with glee
I felt like a king
In this blind men’s paradise
Shocking poor fellows at will
Making fun of their cries
I was shaken hard
By someone I could not see
I rubbed my eyes
Could see only darkness around me
It was my mother
She put me on her lap
Tears filled my eyes
As I went into recap
I wished my dreams were true
I could see the world go blind
Why O Lord,
You robbed away my sight
What was my fault,
You made me Blind
Copyright © Suresh Iyer | Year Posted 2010
Please please PLEASE
Say you recognize ME -
My face, my name;
Please say you know me today.
Say you know me, so we can converse,
A normal chat, words unrehearsed.
No more who are you’s, or who am I’s,
No more confusion when I stop by
I miss you mom and you’d miss me too,
If just once, you only knew…
Copyright © Black Eyed Susan | Year Posted 2012
She is a loving mother,
her pain is like no other.
Kids taken all at once away.
A price too steep to have to pay.
Holds her head up high,
when all she wants to do is die.
She thinks her pain is masked,
but as you see, its no easy task.
She's strong and still fights,
even when they say she has no rights.
She dreams of seeing her kids,
trying hard to keep the pain hid.
She goes to court and really fights,
only to come home alone and cry at night.
Still, she continues this uphill battle.
Her confidence, they constantly rattle.
Goes to work and tries to smile,
as her heart is breaking all the while.
Wish I was a much better sister,
who called and let her know I missed her.
I had my own tumultuous issues,
it was she who really needed the tissues.
I just had a crappy, low life man.
By her side her family should stand.
Instead they all give her grief.
Do they not see her pain will never be brief?
No, they all say they are sorry, but they're full of lies.
Didn't they know it was her LIFE in demise?
A better sister, I'll try to be.
Her back she never turned to me.
I hope she knows she's loved and cared for.
Her smile I'd like to see more.
I know that's no easy task.
But that I will still ask.
As they push her to the brink,
She's stronger than she ever thinks.
A combined effort for Kristy.....
Copyright © Aleera Canino | Year Posted 2009
The pool grows green through the leaf cover.
Large pears hang upon ancient tree.
Mocking Bird sings chanting to his lover;
As the dew sparkles, like water in the sea.
Crepe Myrtle has turned red how time has passed.
Moma admired some trees said they were pretty.
Daddy dug up a few runners, oh! memories from past.
In most things, think of daddy how witty__
Daddy brought (them) here to brighten moma's life
To give her something pretty to enjoy.
Today I enjoy them, this is reallife.
Now as I look at them they are my buoy
Clouds are coming in hiding the sun rays
But their light and life brightens my days_
For Nancy's contest;
Contest name: Gratitude
Copyright © Sara Kendrick | Year Posted 2011
On a slope graced with green
White marble stands in proud salute
For beneath these engraved pillars of memory
Lie the resting places of heroes
A solitary green fir looks down
As if sheltering the lost and the taken
So many names, from all walks of life
A father, brother a girlfriend or wife
On a sunny day, they glow radiant like their lives
On a dull day, they stand out against the greys
For the living, life goes on
Tomorrow is another day
Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2010
‘Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust’
(No one is going to bust up MY insides,
sew my eyes and mouth shut,
drain my blood and pump me full of fluid
then seal me up in a concrete drawer)
Mama I was so young, so very young
So very young and so very curious
You were sitting in your favorite chair
I was sitting on the arm of your chair
”Mama what did they do to you in the hospital?”
You parted your gown and I saw a flaming scar
Something was missing…
The lady with the bun on her head
came into the classroom with an apple
I was called out into the hall
The lady with the bun on her head
presented me with the apple
I said “Thank you for the apple”
She said, “You’re welcome son”
(Teacher had a grave look on her face,
shaking her head slightly and muttering)
The lady with the bun on her head said
“I need you to come with me son”
and escorted me outside
where our car was waiting;
grandma and grandpa in the front,
daddy in the back with my two brothers.
Daddy said with a wavering voice,
“Boys, your mother has gone to be with the Lord”
We rode home in silence…
They even had a dresser with a mirror
with plush carpet, end tables and lamps
in the room we were escorted to
They had you laid out in a bed
with the covers folded neatly down
but it was not really you…
Someone had made a copy of you
A life sized, porcelain doll image of you
Grandpa went over and reached down
“Look, she has her favorite earrings on
Doesn’t she look beautiful?”
(Mama, I didn't think you looked beautiful at all)
I remember asking daddy, "Daddy, how come,
how come they gonna put mama in that drawer?”
Mama I was so young, so very young
I was at the ideal age of six mama
Old enough to comprehend
but too young to understand
Old enough to hurt like hell
but too young to know why
I guess I miss you even now mama
Mama, I guess what I miss the most
is just growing up without you
and that you never said goodbye…
don’t let them bust up my insides,
sew my eyes and mouth shut,
drain my blood and pump me full of fluid,
then seal me up in a concrete drawer
like they did you…
Copyright © Tim Ryerson | Year Posted 2013
O beloved mother, o beloved sisters
departed from me, within years
of each other, to sadden my living;
I spend my days weeping...
reminiscing in my sorrow:
how we laughed together,
and faced another serene tomorrow,
knowing that sharing kindness
would bond our destinies
in ways so devoted and immense!
O beloved mother, o beloved sisters...
I let the unconsumed joy of memories
take me to those yesterdays
to thank God for our existence,
when we enjoyed the gifts He offered;
yes, even the smallest of them
were so lovely and precious!
And by watching how you faced death,
I admired how you became the bravest...
slowly letting go of what you possessed!
O beloved mother, o beloved sisters...
do you want me to continue crying,
or smile and console you with a future promise:
that soon we'll embrace one another
under the joyful eyes of our Creator?
Nothing foolish I will do to harm myself;
and wait I will 'till my end comes,
but until then my solemn prayers I'll recite
amid tombstones guarded by triumphant angels...
and bound for Heaven, I'll be smiling!
Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2010
I dreamt my mother mourned a broken doll,
porcelain, sad brown eyes, and five feet tall.
Entombed it in the finest place she could,
a cottage encircled by sunlit wood.
She danced a silent waltz with it, keening,
encouraging life in the wretched thing.
And it mended as she was worn away.
She did not hear when warned of her decay.
I was left a pristine porcelain doll,
and a broken mother in its enthrall.
Copyright © Brittany Reynolds | Year Posted 2012
Mountains crumble no more to be
Oceans of woe since you left me
Thunder rolls and my heart it breaks
Humbly life ends, my soul it quakes
Everlasting grief with no mend
Reminds me daily, it will not bend
Inconceivable, this pain I bear
My love's not gone, together we'll share
In lasting glory at Jesus' feet
Serenity and grace, oh how sweet
Salvation unites on heaven's shore
Yesterday's gone, tomorrow brings more
Only a moment in time we wait
Until we meet at heaven's gate
Copyright © kanzazy hutchins | Year Posted 2009
The sky is a rose this evening.
The country is still and hush.
And a lady in love lies against the glass,
Her cheeks are filled with blush.
The road she watches never changes.
The grass there hardly grows.
For when one waits, as does she...
Time increasingly slows.
Poor girl... poor lady... poor mother.
I'm leaning against her door.
But while she waits for what is gone,
She is seeing her child no more.
The woman I'm watching is changing.
And with aging, has grayed at last.
For when one waits, as do I...
Time is incredibly... fast.
Copyright © Amy Greaves | Year Posted 2007
Where has dad gone, momma dear?
Hush, my little lamb.
Your dad's gone to the thicket dear
And mad old Abraham
That man went early this grim morn, and took his sharpened knife
And with him took his own first born, to offer up his life
With servants and with firewood, both, they journeyed to Moriah
And on the hillside there they built an altar and a fire
And Isaac, when he heard the plan, went willingly, it's odd
That he should let that daft old man, so worship his cruel god.
Your father, he was passing by, and heard but could not see
And foolishly could not deny his curiosity
So closer did your father scramble peering through the thorns
Unaware of how the brambles tangled with his horns
Just to see a crazy man who planned to kill his kin
Your father did not understand the danger he was in
For then again that mad old man started hearing voices
His god was speaking to the loon and giving him new choices
And so his plan to slay the boy came about to falter
And Abraham, he took your pa and dragged him to the altar
But that was never fair, mama, can you tell me why
When Isaac he was all prepared and well prepared to die
And all had been decided on, so what cruel trick mama
Was played upon that grand old ram, who was my own papa?
Life is not fair, my little lamb, nor is it like to change
And fate plays tricks on all of us, both sinister and strange
So you take care, my little lamb, with this advice from me
Do not visit places where you know you should not be
The moral of this story dear, is take heed of the odds
And stay away from two-leggies worshipping their gods
Copyright © Lee Leon | Year Posted 2011
You stare at me with vapid eyes,
That once were bright and clear.
You don't recognize me now,
My voice you barely hear.
This empty shell that's lying here,
Isn't the mother that I knew,
And it's tearing me apart inside.
Why did this happen to you?
You're the one who gave me life,
You taught and raised me well.
I couldn't ask for a better Mom,
And seeing you like this is hell!
We used to talk and laugh together,
Going shopping was a treat.
You loved to smile and give out hugs,
To every friend we'd meet.
But now you barely speak a word,
You look but you don't see,
And when I try and hug you,
You shrug away from me.
It's torture watching you fade away,
Knowing there's nothing I can do.
Do you even understand what I'm saying,
When I tell you "I love you" ?
How horrid and cruel this disease is,
Destroying every cell in your brain,
Stealing all of your memories,
And causing so much sorrow and pain.
I keep hoping one morning I'll waken,
And find its all been a bad dream,
But reality steps in and betrays me,
Making me want to scream!
My precious Mother, I miss you.
I miss your tender kiss on my brow.
I miss your sweet words of wisdom.
How I wish you had some for me now.
For PD's Second Chance contest
(this is a work of fiction)
Copyright © Kim Merryman | Year Posted 2012
A faded leather notebook filled with lines he'd never read
Was never far away from where he slept
The book that she had written since her love was but a seed
A book so full of her he always wept
She never let him read it and he teased her every day
But now he held her poems as he missed her every way
Each page is filled with all her hopes her love and yes her dreams
Each verse is filled with him in every line
His life is now an ancient suit that's split in all the seams
Each day another step on his decline
She was the only reason that he woke up every day
The woman that he loves and now he misses every way
He tried to read the sonnets that his son said were so sweet
But never could he read beyond the first
For all the lines were tortures his endurance could not meet
With every word he thought his heart had burst
She had written in the notebook at the end of every day
And her poems are the loving that he craves in every way
And now the leather notebook lies there clasped in lifeless hands
He'll never read the verses of her heart
But his mourning son beside him has a soul that understands
His father never had the strength to start
He will treasure all the poems that were written every day
They're the story of his parents whom he loved in every way
Copyright © Jeff Green | Year Posted 2009
I do not know?
So, granny, they tell me you died yesterday
i wish i could have known you better,
i wish i knew the stories you had,
of love and loss, of joy and sorrow,
I could sit for hours, listening, and learning
A sweet old lady, with a long history, how beautiful is that?
I was busy, struggling, with my own story.
Wow, i do have regret, a loss,
i guess, i should have reached out to you,
been your student,
what did you have to teach?
I hear you were angry,
9 children, dozens of grandchildren and theirs
no one visited you, showed you love,
not even me.
So, you are in the afterlife now,
released, and let go of the tired body.
Our tears are with you, in our loss,
We all loved you, but were too wounded by life,
to see you, to know you, to be close.
The love we should have had.
I painted you, sitting in purgatory,
surrounded by the angels of healing,
I ask the angels to hold you gently as you cry,
and nurture your wounds from this life
The colors of regret and anger,
into acceptance and love.
we all need you to heal quickly
and be our guide.
A voice from heaven
teaching us to love more, give more and forgive.
We all give thanks to the life you lived,
and the lives you brought into this world.
We will all appreciate each other more,
a little more giving, a little more love,
all inspired by the life you lived and left.
Copyright © Michael Harman | Year Posted 2010