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Son Prose Poetry Poems | Prose Poetry Poems About Son

These Son Prose Poetry poems are examples of Prose Poetry poems about Son. These are the best examples of Son Prose Poetry poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Prose Poetry |

A Grace Sent From Heaven

                                   ~A Grace From Heaven.~
                 That July 7 2007 was supposed to be my Birthday
                     But it turned out to be a tragic sinister day.
           That same moment my son was supposed to come in a joyful way
                      But it turned out to be a devastation day.
                                           I Prayed 
                    What was supposed to be our celebration day
                           turned out to be our darkest Friday.
                     What was supposed to be an unforgettable day
                     turned out to be a wishful forgettable Tuesday.
                                         Obscure Days
                   What was supposed to be our family reunion day
              turned out to be the birth of a hideous cancerous malady                       
                   that destroyed all of my sons upcoming healthy days.
                That Monday instead became a wounded bleeding today
                       having to listen to what the doctor had to say.
             It turned out to be 5 months chemo therapy of shadowy days.
                                        Grace From Heaven
              My sons soul awakened his spirit one night on his hospital bed
                        sleeping felt a hand pat on his shoulders
                    heard a voice,my son you will not die have faith
                      your soul will awaken and you will be cured.
                                          Today 5 Years Later
                     Mother & son are miraculously extremely happy 
                            out of the hospital he was flying away  
                     no more chemo therapy & cancer out of his way. 
                      Celebrating my sons healing soul will last Today 
                            Tomorrow And All His Upcoming Days. 
                                           Thank You Lord.
                                              
 
                                                 Therese Bacha
                                                    5/8/2013


Contest for PD......A Grace Sent From Heaven. (Win No.7)


Details | Prose Poetry |

And Then I Pray

You came into my life, why? I didn’t invite you, I never wanted you around, you 
know this , but you will not leave, you don’t know how much I hate you, and yet I 
don’t hate anyone or anything. When you hate, to me, it is the same as killing. If I 
only knew how to kill you ……. It would have been done many times over. I awake 
every morning and there you are, ready to make my life miserable, the one thing 
you enjoy most in your life. Wherever I go, you follow bringing your misery into my 
life. Why cant you just leave and leave me in peace? I fight with you every day, and 
it hurts so much, so much it hurts to fight with anyone, even you. There is one 
way and only one way to rid you of me. I think of this often, but then where would I 
be? I would not be, because you are part of me, your name is bi-polar. Handed 
down from my father and from his father, and from me to my son, but he refuses 
to recognize you, so he fights you without help he could get. If he would only say I 
know who you are. I hurt for him everyday, and then I pray.
Oh God please forgive me for what I have brought upon my son. Son, I love you, 
and am so sorry for what you go through. Maybe someday we will talk again. Dad


Details | Prose Poetry |

A Son Asked

                               
                                  ~A Son Asked~

How can i give when i have nothing?
Because nobody has nothing you have 
everything but did not know 
you had everything.

How will i know if i am in love? 
Everything you do is richer and 
fuller when love is there only when 
you fall in love when you desire with 
passion when you miss the flame in 
her eyes when you envy the ground 
she walks on when you leave her and 
regret doing so when your dream is
all about her wanting her to be next to 
you now this moment this second that 
is called a dream come true! Love.

Is living a dream?
Only when you wake up in the morning 
full of love stay in love the whole day 
no matter what look at the twilight 
smelling the perfume from your balcony 
having a reason to get dressed to go out 
full of happiness energy plan an aim 
with a goal & success this is when you 
start living it becomes a dream come
true.

Is forgiving a dream?
Only when you regret if anybody was hurt 
if you stop judging & being resentful and 
you can sleep at night with no remorse it 
becomes a beautiful dream come true.

Is being human a dream? 
Only when you will feel other peoples pain
when you will open your heart and even 
shed a tear that is being human it becomes 
a dream come. 

Is sharing a dream?
Only when you start sharing even a piece
of bread give unconditionally listen to the
voice & respond feel the beating of a heart
be everywhere it becomes a dream.

Is friendship a dream?
Only when you become friends for
life it becomes a dream come true.

Is being compassionate a dream? 
Only when you love life when you
feel you can climb on top of the 
mountain and envy the beyond
& feel compassionate it becomes
a dream.

Is being intelligent a dream?
Only when you use your brain towards 
the right directions right decisions
be patient tolerant accept change
when needed proud of who you are
persistent succeed over the years it 
will become a dream come true.

Is having a mother a dream?
I can only think about this reply:
Since birth until the end a mother
is the shadow of each child its an 
everlasting love this is a dream 
come true.

How will you know if you are a writer:
Only when you never stop writing.
                                                                         Therese Bacha
Contest for PD  About inspirational poems.               6/3/2013

                                                                  Win as Honorable Mention.


Details | Prose Poetry |

My Son Kidnapped

                 

                                         My Son Kidnapped

                       My story is thee only one I needed to write  
                     one year In captivity underground me and my son
                    days passed by we were prevented of food & water
  bombardments outside were heard, suddenly a militia ran towards my son kidnapped him to be killed running after him screaming his name I knelt to pray
         Oh my God without him I will die show him the way to come back
   sleeping on the floor one night I heard him call my name I knew he came       
                     we held each other tight our tears had no end.                                                                        
                                              5/1/13
                                           Therese Bacha



Details | Prose Poetry |

First Mother, First Son - The Unspoken Words

 …What he found told that they each live lives which revolve around an ever deepening sense of a mother’s regret;
 … a weighted loneliness, held only by the truly broken of heart that surrender to their own pain. 

This was a pain obviously based on guilt; with enough for him to realize, - could’ve led her young mind to find comfort in his presented destiny… 

“…but at what price?” he asked out loud!

Edifyingly, the few times she spoke of the adoption, in her voice there always maintained a high level of doubting inflection. 
This was a conscience still ensconced at the summit of its grief; there would never be a fulfillment of her self-sacrificing penance.

That was the way her life ended…

   In stark, contrasting analogy of her coercion, – was that he too, has since found himself on same like hilltop. 
This place was real, in overlook and earth. 
One that evokes true ironies, where metaphors in life’s journey’s reflections do view from both sides …, 
but sometimes, - these stop you cold!
 
    His person just stood there mesmerized, while staring at this lonely snow fence, still dripping after a late summer storm's rain. 
Upon fleeting touch, he back away when felt was the wet of sorrow’s myriad of shed tears; … he would soon feel the stinging salinity of his own!
    It then occurred, and not by volition, an eerie loosing of these forlorn and mystic cries; 
a sounding that had instantly chilled the autumn air. 
These were the conjured bring from tailing empty winds that rush thru and by a fence’s waiting pickets...
 …In this field of view were the unknown mothers of different circumstance;
 each knowing what he had heard only all too well.
  They were his gone but stalwart Praetorian Guard, only long gleaned of any shown emotion… 
And now, through his welling eyes, a vision became this phalanx of weathered but now endeared souls,
 - yet still howling for the cold, cold company charged to their every winter’s keep. 
His tears now began to fall – and follow…


Details | Prose Poetry |

Machiavelli's Own Son or Thespian

You re-house Machiavelli’s soul in your foul frame
That soul great guides your head and heart;
Not what you learnt from the kitabs
Beacon to you is Lucifer’s own light.

With verisimilitude unseen,
With finesse unthought of,
You pose as a Judhishtir.
But Dharmaputra, I know you 
Engineer mischief meanest.
You are the mid-husband of
Old rustic plot,
Vile stinking villain
You know not- unhiegynically you rot.


Details | Prose Poetry |

THREE IN ONE

Father God,
The Omnescient One,
The Alpha and The Omega.
Almighty, Powerful, Unfathomable Love.
The Head of The Holy Trinity.

Jesus, The Son,
Love Incarnate.
Son of God, Son of Man,
Savior and Friend.
The Lamb of God is He.

Holy Spirit,
The Light and the Essence,
Of God The Father, Himself.
Convictor, Teacher,
Seeker of Souls,
Sent to comfort you and me.

Father, Son and Holy Spirit,
There's three in one, you see,
And we are created in His image,
So again there's one in three.

Body, Soul and Spirit too,
Again there's three in one.
He said,"We'll make him in Our own image,
And to teach him I'll send My Son."


"I AM THE 'A' AND THE 'Z' , THE BEGINNING AND THE END OF ALL THINGS, SAYS GOD, WHO IS THE LORD. THE ALL POWERFUL ONE WHO IS AND WAS AND IS COMING AGAIN."
                                                                                                  Rev. 1:6

"ONE DAY AFTER THE CROWDS HAD BEEN BEEN BAPTIZED JESUS, HIMSELF WAS BAPTIZED AND AS HE WAS PRAYING THE HEAVENS OPENED AND THE HOLY SPIRIT IN THE FORM OF A DOVE SETTLED UPON HIM AND A VOICE FROM HEAVEN SAID,'YOU ARE MY BELOVED  SON IN WHOM I AM WELL PLEASED."
                                                      Luke 4:21-23


Details | Prose Poetry |

Sunny Days


The Son burst upon my days
taking away the mist and haze
of times less bright.

Now my spirits climb
with anticipation of all tomorrows.
Empty spaces now fill 
as my heart stands still.

Lungs aftaid to breathe
in this illumination.
My heart does feed.

Words no longer on deaf ears fall.
The Son makes translucent my wall.
As day ends and night begins
a velvet warmth now sets in
and tomorrow holds the promise
of sun filled days.


I wrote this poem in 2003





Details | Prose Poetry |

ApplefortheTeachor

 ApplefortheTeachor 
ApplefortheTeachor 
 
MAS come on down front you have been chosen by the frozen tender tundra to eat the 
apple i can give her. Staccatto beating in the background leaning to the south moving in the 
night polish wont make green apple to shine. The love GOD has for all of us in is SON Jesus is 
also inside us in our Souls inside our Spirit. He did this even though none of us are worth this 
a freely given gift. Something that opens up inside us each and every day. Better then the 
food we eat the apple red and green. Better then what people give on Christmas Day the 
packages wrapped and placed underneathe the tree dont open that dont shake it up dont let 
Johnny see. Perhaps its all the things that boy has stored up all year long some new toy he 
saw on television laying on the lawn. He never picks it up now or plays for very long. This 
Christmas please think of how the Son Of God must feel when we ignore his gift to us. I feel 
so guilty of his love inside this green forgotten apple in the bucket in the snow. Sorrow not 
the answer the apple catches worms so the food stored in the bucket doesnt turn to molded 
into love when I get hungry having none I go to cuppoard never barren there. I cannot eat 
much fruit anymore but mix the trail will fill me up when there is none to find in town. For 
CHristmas is two missing weeks after Thanksgiving missing one. SUnday on the November 
twenty nine untill Friday December Eightteenth then back for three more days then Monday 
the eleventh of January I solidify for more solid days activities perhaps the apple won. Bright 
red and polished up for teachor loves. Look for me with love. 




Details | Prose Poetry |

The Demon

When men were more primal, they were suspicious of all outside their clan, 
they would band together for survival, still today suspecting won't give way and 
lives in the heart of each, and every man. It goes by the name of indifference, the 
demon that breeds with hate. Now there's been a revival, but all men are still 
tribal, a victim of our fate. We all must fight this demon, for it is our very souls we 
have at stake.

  I never considered myself racist, because I did not hate. but I did not love; I did 
not feel, and I didn't even think. Men of another color were so little to me. I did not 
hate them, I did not loathe them, I just let them be. They were the object of my 
indifference, said that demon deep in me; buried too deep to see, the demon that 
would not go free.

  It is few men that get to look within, at the indifference they have sown. Fewer 
men still get the change to kill, that demon in their soul. At the birth of my 
grandson Jordan, who was fathered by a race not my own. Love for that child 
shined bright through my heart, so that demon in me I could see. The object of 
my indifference my grandson could never be. His love I now hold, it fill the hole in 
my soul where a demon once lived in me.


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