Limericks X
This is a more serious limerick:
The Abandoned Child’s Complaint
by Michael R. Burch
I hoped you might have loved me,
but you pushed me out to sea
like Moses, for some other
strange Egyptian mother:
Isis, Nefertiti.
Keywords/Tags: limerick, child. childhood, children, child abuse, baby, abandonment, unloved, love, unwanted, mother
The voices.
The loud,
screaming,
noises.
The images,
The disgustingly comforting images.
I hate this.
This numbing,
suffering feeling,
I get from these thoughts.
I want it to stop.
I need it to stop.
But it won’t.
It never will.
I know you feel heavy inside
Like the weight of the world is too much to bear.?
You carry a burden no one can see,
?And it feels like you are fading unnoticeable?
Into the air.
But listen...
You are not the unwanted one.?
I see you.?Your pain, your struggle
they matter.
?You are here, and that means something.
The silence you feel isn't the end.?
It's a moment, a purpose,?
Before you find your voice again.
You are more than the darkness that surrounds you.?
It's okay to feel lost,
?But don't mistake it for being forgotten.
You are worth more than these thoughts.?
And no matter how quiet the world goes,?
You still matter.
I promise you, the storm isn't forever.?
You will rise.
?You are stronger than you think.?
The pain is not your forever.
And I believe in you, even when you don’t.
Scrape away, at a life. You just weren’t given any real instructions –
so, you scrape like a carpenter
at grey washed walls, wanting
to peel off old paint – old memories,
in your head you scrap away
the talk back – that little
squirrel inside the trunk of your head
it scrapes.
You scrape and scream, you scrape and
feel the muscle of your right hand
figure the page into
something. You scrape
days and trash them. Who
will find them? Who cares that you scrape
while in labor? scrape every morning you wake –
scrape on body, scrape on heart, scrape on this
bloody life
until you just can’t scrape –
Unwanted thoughts, they haunt my mind,
In shadows deep, they're intertwined.
Like whispers in the silent night,
They steal my peace, obscure the light.
They creep in slow, without a sound,
In every quiet moment found.
A storm of doubt, a sea of fears,
They echo all my hidden tears.
Memories of a distant past,
Regrets that hold and grip so fast.
The what-ifs and the might-have-beens,
The haunting dance of unseen sins.
I try to push them far away,
To guard my heart and keep them at bay.
Yet still, they come, relentless, bold,
Their icy fingers take their hold.
In daylight hours and darkest dreams,
They lurk within my silent screams.
A never-ending, cruel refrain,
That binds my soul in endless pain.
I search for peace, for respite’s touch,
A moment free, a breath, a crutch.
Yet unwanted thoughts, they cling and stay,
A shadow that won’t fade away.
But still I fight, with weary heart,
To tear their grip, to break apart.
In hopes that one day I’ll be free,
From unwanted thoughts that imprison me.
Living in an unwanted world
Tossed to and fro
With heavy breeze breezing
All hope seems lost
Lost in the midst of ravaging storm
Tossing East and North.
Caught amidst the combat of immorality
Weary and scary
Sharpened edges rust,
Once honored chastened.
Caught in the midst of thorns
Egg meant to meet with fragility chastened.
Marauding and parading
No light,no route, no Zeus.
Bright lightening fades,
yellow sun turned dark
Light to the path turn outcast
The cared for left
Leaving the light to fend for himself.
Is the light meant to fuel itself ?
How then shall it bear forth light ?
When day break,night cometh not ?
When night comes with darkness being the author of the day,
Vanishes, ashamed,is an outcast light summoned?
How be it the light comes up
When not fuelled?
Light cometh up but shines not .
When treated right,
Light shines and darkness vanishes
When there is alternative to light,
Is the light not ashamed?
Nothing replaces light for ever.
Even nature cometh and vanishes.
Then,shall light be appreciated but gone.
Of what gain shall it be for both creature?
The Unwanted
I walked in the forest near the village
I wasn't feeling well, my stomach extended
unable to evacuate for days
Suddenly it was time
Sat under an olive tree for a while, got up
relieved, but when I turned to see
I saw a perfectly form baby made of bodily
waste, a bronze statue
I had seen this being before in a grotto, in
the Athens of a baby looking like Jesus in
his is a crib, who opened his eyes and grinned
like the devil, several nuns fainted
My baby also opened his eyes and made vulgar
sign and grinned
I fled the scene
What else could I do, take this contamination
hug it to my chest, wrap it in a blanket
take it home, clean its sin, beg forgiveness
for murdering a baby
Unwanted
Written by Miracle Man
4/17/2024
By phone, or email I will block each pest,
Once this is accomplished I answer the rest.
An unsolicited ad,
makes me feel bad.
Door knocking sales also leave me stressed.
He came to live his life in peace
To put all his troubles at ease
But like a garbage, he was shunned
Almost short of being gunned
He didn't even know why
They even wanted him to die
Like he did the gravest sin
Like there's a leproid on his skin
He was scoffed and he was shamed
It's just short of being framed
For, just a dime, he didn't know why
Often he looked up to ask the sky
How he wanted to be just him
To live simple, forget his dream
To share with them all that he knew
Even for free, from dust till dew
He's short of being crucified
They thought their act was justified
So fled, he did, like melted snow
To look for a new place to grow
To be a stranger in another place
Is even better, if they respect your face
Than live in place you call your own
Where your people hate you to the bone
A gifted person once lived in that place but they chose to hate him for his flaws than to accept him for what he could contribute for the common good. Though, he still needs to come back to dispose of what he left in that place
none of them would notice,
i doubt theyd even care
if it turned out id had enough
and disappeared somewhere.
nobody would be worried,
they wouldnt even ask
i think that is what scares me,
what makes me wear this mask.
A dying man was gasping for air
He asked a nurse if she had some to spare
She breathed into a little phial
And with a smile upon her dial
She said how much will you pay
My phial of breath may save your day
A quiet voice from way up high
Spoke to the nurse and asked her why
She had wanted payment for her breath
When her patient was so near death
Suddenly, she heard a sound
Of soothing music all around
She looked at the dying man's face
And noticed that there was no trace
Of worry lines or wrinkles there,
He seemed to rise from his bed
A cosy pillow lay under his head
The nurse was awe-struck and gave a scream
Praying to awaken from this dream
Still holding her phial of breath.
Coldest day yet, 'fore new bairn was christened,
mother's muse foretold as hearth embers failed.
Scripture held tight, she quietly listened,
as cradled creature withered, weeped, and wailed.
What secret kept a mother by proxy,
pallid face adorned in humanlike form.
Life borne so different any other,
unabashed at life's ex utero norm.
Green-gilled coveting mother's pride they wait,
singing forgotten changling's mirthful strains.
Off sibling snatched by fae's strange fostered fate,
sad imposter never thrived, yet remains.
Mother's cast away changling unwanted,
yet child's love remains true and undaunted.
Gift a wash basin wrappèd in foil
A wish unheard for it was and diapers soiled
stenciled pencil on scetchpads waning lips
Of full moons curse and syringe tips
On a heart of wanting kids no more
And eyes cried dry and cold and red as soul-sores
On lips cursed for unwanted stranger to come
And in stead of gladness only sorrow was won
dust out of control
I share my house with creatures
webs cling to my fans
One wanted my company but they vetoed,
I had happened to overhear.
My anger never torpedoed,
but nulled to make way for sorrow.
I realized it was not them that were hollow–
But it was I that caused distress,
I could not sojourn there nor here,
and everyone hesitated, failing to confess.
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