I'M Forever Dying

After laying, my mother to rest, in her bed of pine, how I detest, that she sleeps, so deep, so peacefully, leaving me behind. Her abuse stays, like the sea's sand, beneath my bare feet, always irritating me. I was broken, like beautiful shells, purposely crushed, on the beach. I often reflect, as I secretly weep, for my, undying pain, it will never sleep. Friends and family wailing, their mourning floods the chapel's windows, but God holds back my tears, like Moses parting the red sea. Winds blowing hard, across the churchyard, I watch the naked trees as they sway, they're calling to the winds of death. At the cathedral's window, I hear their branches tapping, like crooked fingers, performing "amazing grace" upon my Mother's heartless chest. Prayers for her are encouraged-by the minister, they bow their heads, for all her sins, they do not know. My eyes swell, like the ocean's waves, I steady my boat, as all heads bend, all whispering, "so long and farewell." "She's heartless just like mother" whispers coming from my brother's and sister's, disparaging breaths. I dismiss their sharp words, intended to cut me, their tongues like swords, my suit, of honor, it protects me. Long stemmed roses, the red petals are spread, their thorns they prick, but my mother feels no pain, her heart, it has always been dead. The harsh winds blow the crimson color, across my Mother's, eternal bed, scattered like wounds, and bittersweet sorrows, the winds smother everything, that I should have said. All their needful tears, from today and tomorrows, is something, that I, shall never shed. Years have passed, waves crash ashore, as I breathe in, the seas refreshing breath, sands of time, have slipped through my hands. I trespass, where her ashes, were scattered, the name "Jean," I etched in the sand, It's a namesake, the waves are unable, to smother. Kneeling upon the warm shore, her spirit attempts to grab me, with all intentions, to hurt me, But I forgive her, Instead. My wounds, they will always make, a cover, for her eternal bed. She is gone, washed out to sea, never again will she, be able to touch me. I go on living, I do not die, I cry, I live, forever dying... instead. ~Vickie Jean~ Poetess