A Mother's Thorn
A thorn in a mothers heart,
When did this pain start?
With twists and moans as the baby parts,
Certainly where it gets its start.
Heart tightens to the thorn with vines,
Tiny thing will always be mine.
Sucking and feeding off every beat,
The little thorn must always eat.
Feeling comfort and wanting to stay,
The little thorn feels the vines pull away.
Growing and always wanting more,
The little thorn starts to find locked doors.
Looking deeply to find one ajar,
A door opens and takes the thorn far.
Journeying to discover what it is,
The thorn learns it can never be kissed.
Wondering why it is such a thing,
It starts to feel its little sting.
Red secretions pulse from the thorn,
This is the day it learns to mourn.
Copyright © Cary Garavaglia | Year Posted 2009
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