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Poem

In times of darkness,
When time is like raging seas,
my mum Is the lighthouse,
illuminating the skies,
guiding me to the shore.

There is an art to motherhood.
A paradise on earth,
with blessings of a priceless prayer.
Anyone can give birth,
but not everyone can be a mother,

I have written so many March musings,
simmering scribbles with alliterative metaphors,
but my mamma is the poem of my soul.

When the Devil would trick with his wicked games,
her angelic voice would bring clarity.
Reminding me that twisted thoughts will
only lead to a maze of uncertainty.

Each time death knocked at my door, 
Her empathic energy would ease my pain.
Always told me if I didn't appreciate inner beauty;
the red of a rose would kill my soul.
How I'll be forever collecting thorns,
so I planted an abundance of flowers,
in kaleidoscopic colours, ensuring
Spring smells were soothing.

I remember when burdens became too heavy,
swift changes of life brought only sorrow,
grey clouds followed my every move
with black skies full of soulless stars.
There was a spring with deadly roses,
and countless colourless flowers.
I wondered if my heart would bloom this spring.
you were the perfect remedy,
like the mercy of rain upon petals,
who gave warmth after a cold night.

Words lost in a hustle and bustle of silence,
bloomed like lilacs and daffodils,
kissed by the sweetness of morning dew,
as colourful clouds in clementine hues,
greeted the sun in sapphire skies.

I always have regurgitating regrets,
when being strong, I never express enough,
how no woman alive could ever take your place.
In a world where love can be a hallucination,
people lose their affection,
let them change, 
but you always stay the same.

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