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Bountyof Thedark Poem
If I cared more, I would see the dream that should be,
Lanes wouldn’t be filled with worries,
Schools would cater to the educators well,
Institutions wouldn’t make graduates dwell.
Music is dull and paintings are monotone.
No voices are heard, and eyes are closed alone,
Where’s the compassion gone?
Folded papers were all done,
And forever it will be.
Fraud voices initiate to make hopeful people happy.
I care only remorseful late,
One wrong move and found each other a bate.
What color of a man makes a difference?
Leaders who seem to divide the countrymen.
Have we chosen the wrong shepherd?
Might be a carnivore who devours just to lead.
How many bloods let come to shed,
To attain the greatness country thought of ahead?
Wrote millions to catch an eye, people asked now, “why?”
Folded papers are now end up fried.
Copyright © Bountyof Thedark | Year Posted 2023
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Bountyof Thedark Poem
You are sunshine and a storm all at once
We are moved by your expertise, the loving
Art isn't in museums alone when you roam free
A masterpiece itself finessed on inspiring
Took days to hear your gentle sing
Any chance you'd lift my chin like you knew my worries
I miss you still. I couldn't break free from these kilometers between like I desired to
It's only when distance appears I get to ache the warmth from the back of your comforting hands
I always long to see you and your genuine smiles when he cuddles you in a blazed afternoons
There were days I would side steps,
In days you'd tremor like you're in an invisible tethered glass
You must be a falling angel, a deity, or a poor rose-tinted vulnerable chain—nevertheless, a beauty in all like no other
You aren't only mine to call But glad you flow in my veins
And this is what must be remembered,
You are my mother and I am your daughter
I love you more than the damage of enormous waves that wash clean the city
I love you so deeply more than the most bottomless hole where light is blurry
Today is Mother's Day, but it's me who receives the best poetry you prayed to God almighty
You have aged as a fine wine, appear like a wildfire, and touched like a calm night's bed
You are an imperfection and at the same time a visibly perfect dancer of your every sway
Thank you a million times over for the times you exist and disappear for me to call you my mother.
Copyright © Bountyof Thedark | Year Posted 2023
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