A child is born
Handed to its mother
Sharing a bond between two
This feeling -
No one else can claim to know.
Oh how our mothers should be praised,
Is it a lost art?
They carry us,
Figures lost,
Stretched and torn,
to give life,
Our first breath,
Life's fast pace takes hold
grasping us as a thorny vine
taking even the most beautiful of gardens.
We forget the breast with which we dined
Providing nourishment
on which it took to survive through the night
Unknown is the process it takes to forget that bond
Could it be our influences?
Lass we are simply products
Of the environments we choose?
It waits at your dinner tables
While you slowly waste away
Sacrifices itself for your perpetual hatred
Of peers, family and friends, even yourself?
Silently it waits
Peering round the corner of your door
watching as you cut deep into your flesh
Holding its breath when you inscribe into your journal
how you simply want to die
Sheds a tear as you watch your mother die
And knows you are going through it alone
Silently wishes to itself it could whisper
if not ever so slightly into your ear
reminding you of that day
the last day
the day you felt its power
On your birthday
how ever precious it was.
A contest entry
- A Wordplay Poetry Contest by -BlackKnight-.
600 points, ended June 9, 2008, 38 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please, let me know what you think. Thanks.
Comments
1 - 6 of 6
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Warmth I believe.
Interesting piece.
It wasn't too bad really.
It was on the border of average and amazing. A little tweaking could've pushed this over.... but without it it was just there.
Nice try though. -
I'm gonna guess and say this is based on/around either "light" or "warmth". I can't decide, and it wouldn't surprise me if I'm wrong.
I couldn't really find anything remarkable about this, though. I mean, it had promise, but never really delivered. It seemed mostly as a discourse on how we slowly lose something over the course of our lives, but there's little descriptive language or emotion in it. It just seemed kinda...empty. -
Eye-friendly
I would change the font from white wording on a black background. This is why I decided to not read your poem. I am sure this is a wonderful poem but my hurting eyes are telling me otherwise. -
very deep,,, the thought of being in the shadows of ones life is to real.. i felt l was siting in the room with you and see all the pain and sadness.. wonderful pen...
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"waist away"
I believe you mean "waste"? -
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thank you... i changed it now. It was pretty late when i wrote it.
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