Son i truly hope you know
How much you mean to me
I know at times I make it difficult
But somehow I hope you see
I don't mean to be so tough on you
For me emotions are hard to show
And I'm doing the best I can
To guide you as you grow
Life isn't an easy journey
We don't always know what to do
As you bear witness to my struggles
Know I want better for you
As my baby boy grows into a man
This is all I will ask of you
Have a heart gentler than mine
And take pride in every thing you do
And know that not a day goes by
That you don't fill my heart with joy
I pray you know how much I love you
And you will always be my baby boy
SAVOUR THIS, MY CHILD
Nothing reflects reality
Like God’s supreme beauty.
Look into the mirror, child,
And see His greatest reward:
Savour it in thanksgiving, for a while:-
No matter how many times you do,
You’ll always see God’s precious beauty
Looking back at you: this will always be true:-
Know that your beauty has its fragility, needing
To be anchored and solidified before it can be
Sanctified utility: codifying its glorifying liberty:-
A soft blue cotton
On even softer skin;
The sweetest little package
Tucked just beneath my chin.
Across pale fabric
Little foxes roam.
Wherever he may wander,
He'll know my arms as home.
A bright blue blanket
Serves as a sky,
To bring into focus
The twinkle of his eyes.
Clear blue pools;
All that I can see,
When my baby boy
Is looking up at me.
Look my little baby,
And know that I can see.
Watching him roll his eyes
Unsure what to make of you
Though still he often tries
Still unsure what to do
Hearing his laugths and cries
Everything around him new
Singing to him sweet lullbies
Or often playing "peekaboo"
Guess the world in his eyes
Is an uncomplicated view
When seeing him a suprise
Now what is he up to
A tribute to Zachary taken from poem
New arrival 2014 written 2020
To have a stepson that you didn't create
Become your son that you did create
Don't ponder the thought of that penmanship
It's too complex of a statement that you're trying to grip
The wordplay is factual; I didn't make a mistake
The censorship is not needed for me to break
Speak your mind; let it rise to the equation
The broken heart that you'll leave with, without hesitation
I'm saying this to say nothing; the meaning is clear
Your son has become your stepson for the duration of his years.
The Price of a Mother
They warned me of sleepless nights,
tiny shoes and lullabies.
No one warned me hearts grow taller,
or that silence echoes louder.
Not death...
That grief is honest.
This is loving someone
who simply chooses
not to come home.
Another headache.
Another flu.
Another promise
that falls through.
How strange the sickest days
always seem
to arrive
when they involve you.
I gave you everything—
my youth,
my strength,
my dreams.
I filled your life
while emptying mine.
I taught you kindness,
grace,
humility.
Somewhere along the climb,
you forgot
the hands that lifted you.
Now I'm
"not your kind of people."
Funny...
I used to be
your whole world.
Motherhood is a bargain
only a mother would make—
giving away pieces of herself
to raise someone
who may never notice
what's missing.
Maybe one day
you'll understand.
Maybe one day
you'll hear my silence
the way I hear yours.
But by then...
"I'm sorry"
won't bring back
missed birthdays,
empty chairs,
or borrowed time.
Because the saddest truth
I've ever learned is this—
"I'm sorry"
doesn't rhyme
with anything.
In good in bad,in sorrow and joy
There is no one,but I,remember me,O' boy.
You reach heights, you reach the sky
I will hold you always, how much high you fly.
I can see no tears in your eye
Never lose hope,fear or be shy.
I am the saviour, I am the protector
Just move on,try and be the go-getter.
When everything seems lost,everything is gone
Remember me,I am there for you,my son.
I can read your mind,I can feel your heartbeat
You can smile,you cannot fool and cheat.
I make you laugh,I make you cry
I am the one,to give you the courage, again to try.
Every step,every move for you,is always a test
To see how much,you can bear,before the final rest.
When everything seems dark,dumb and calm
Remember me,I am always there for you to charm.
Remember me,my child, remember me
My blessings will shower ,have patience to see...
As a child,
Like a grown up, you’d put on my make-up,
In my heels you’d stumble trying to stand up.
As a child,
Knowingly, you played at ‘mothers’ with your friends
Each using grown up language in pretends.
As a child,
At times you would not do as you were told,
Capricious and stubborn as any eight-year-old.
As a child,
Hastily, already knowing that you wanted to be
Identically, a loving mother just like me.
As a child,
Like peas in a pod, we went through all of that together
Daintily dancing through all kinds of weather.
Even though you’re grown up now you cannot hide
That sometimes you stumble like a child.
In the heart of the whispering woods,
Where shadows dance with the light,
Lies a Child with a gentle soul,
Keeping vigil through the night.
Her Mother, a Witch of ancient lore,
Sits beneath the Mistress Moon’s empathetic glow,
Weaving spells of forgotten dreams,
In the world where secrets flow.
The child always tends to her mother’s heart,
A well of sorrow, deep and wide
For the father, a phantom of the past
Left before the baby’s first cry
With hands of grace and eyes of truth,
She gathers herbs with care
Brewing potions to ease the pain,
And weave hope from despair.
The forest hums with her magic song
A lullaby in the boughs above,
As the child whispers words of strength,
Bound by unyielding love.
In the flicker of the lanterns glow,
The Mother smiles, though tears may fall,
For in her child, she sees the light,
That guides them through it all.
Thus, the child of the witch remains,
In the woods where mysteries dwell,
A guardian of her Mother’s heart,
Where love and magic swell.
I stand here with my arms wide open
I stand here waiting in silence
I wait,
praying endlessly
I know it’s your timing, not mine.
I know you’ve done the impossible.
Calm this storm that rages inside me.
Carved from the hollows of her heart,
The child resembles her deepest desires
Her hopes and dreams are all contained
In the eyes of her offspring, burning with fire
Her life is not one of envy, but simple and plain
All of the warmth soaking into her daughter
She will grow into a lovely young woman
With all of the love that her mother brought her
You bring me joy
My newborn son
Oh, little boy
Your button nose
Your hands, your toes
How "my face" glows
Your eyes that shine
Your little face
It glows, like mine
Oh, precious boy
My only son
You bring me joy
My hands are fuller,
Time spread across thin.
days I wish to end,
before they would begin.
As a woman who was losing,
I lost myself in sin.
As a woman who’s now a mother,
I strive for them to win.
My pride expands
with every chuckle,
each mischievous grin.
My hands may be fuller,
time harder to pin.
Yet all cherished in the same space,
a place , deeply guarded and special within.
The naked woman is lying
on the chocolate floor,
stretching her hand to meet
that of her lifeless child.
Look at her
the agony in her eyes
as she sheds her final tears.
"My child!"
she screamed in despair,
for the chances she missed
to love him more.
See his battered skull, like ogbono,
his skin like cassava.
What brutality is this?
A shredded piece of the land I fought for
Where is the mother land you speak of?
Where is the honey flowing?
I have searched a thousand years
for melted happiness.
I am no queen,
but Lord, dear Lord,
save this poor child.
A day is coming — soon, it is,
Ordinary in every sense,
Yet I shall journey far away,
To the land where the sun shines not.
Weep not, my child.
The Lord is softly calling me home,
And who am I to resist His voice?
Though my heart clings to this world,
I must answer when He calls.
Weep not, my child.
I have lived my days in fullness,
Shown kindness where I could,
Lifted others when I was able —
Now my time of rest has come.
Weep not, my child.
My Child Categories
Definition | What is My Child in Poetry?
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.