.
I am coated with the blanket of induced coma
It’s so soft here
The small lapping at my feet
Comforts with its warmth
I can speak here quietly
No irate insecurities
Just woman
Proud curves
Created from love and marks
Stretching across belly
Pride they are of each
Passing into the existence of reality
Whilst each a dream
Filled with fecundity
Created there of lovings
Spent within
To amass a future of hope
So much
So much they carry.
I want to show them
Nurture them
Do they see?
Pain in my eyes
I would wash it away with a smile
That never quiet reaches my sight
Placed to give security that all is well
And I pray nightly
Daily
That all they ever receive is the potential
To become
Who it is
They will
That they maybe be cherished
Adored by
Arms giving
And hearts that will always love
Each for the
Simplicity
Of the beauty of who they are.
.
Author notes
I watch when they sleep.
Written January 19th, 2006
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Comments
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The price of procreation etched on the physique… perhaps that was what the Firebird was about and not the loss of feathers… and another dividing line between Martians and Venusians – what guff that artificial war is¡! Any man less thick than a plank could not fail to see the logic and emotion in this theme¡!
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Someone once said they 'they have a genius in there midst', I'm quite sure you must have been standing between them and who ever they were talking to. 'Seether' you offer ideas for vacant spaces to become alive, and become the place of dreams. It's like you are the mother of creation, today. Thank you Lady from wind swept corridors.
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Beautiful
Amen
If a mothers hopes and wishes for her children, only half came true.... just imagine. Wonderful write Bec that hits straight in all the soft spots created by being another that has been stretched beyond proportion
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beautiful
This is beautiful it shows that not all women are a size two. We have feeling just as much Thank you I appreciate it
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