Years have passed since I buried you
beneath green grasses drenched with dew;
I placed the blossoms, one by one,
a blanket for my only son,
you, my heart's flower, blooming fair,
a mother's rose, uniquely rare.
The bitter grief bubbles inside,
rolling hot waves, a searing tide,
dark desperate, wrenching prayers,
sharp, shattered facets of despair.
Anguish climbs this long hill with me,
the crest of which I never see.
How can one stand beside the mound
where love's sweet baby flesh lays bound?
Faith defies sensibility
and blossoms in eternity.
Copyright, March 28, 2015
Faye Lanham Gibson
Copyright © Faye Gibson | Year Posted 2015
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