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I remember when I could do no wrong,
My words heard as a valued song.
His eyes, they shone of cultured pearl,
His love waved akin to the tail of a squirrel.
Now he has grown and sees so clear,
Father can be wrong even if held dear.
His words show perception edgewise and tall,
From a boy who once was so very small.
My love is allowing him to make his stand,
Grow his wisdom from his very own hand.
To share my story and leave it at that,
For he is now the one who is "at bat".
Today I see glimmers of that childish view,
Tendered in thoughts of the adult so true.
Willingly knowing that he shall be so,
If only allowed to blossom and grow.
After reading the whole piece it causes me to stop and give the words deep thought. Thanks for posting."Grandma, I'm tired. So tired of this life..."
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“Take your tiredness, my child, and wrap it around yourself. Like a blanket in the cold winter months. Tiredness comes to make you a nest, to bring you to wear comfortable clothes, to make you sink into its warm embrace. I invite you to stay within yourself. Without strength, without thoughts, without actions. Like the snow that covers everything to soften the world, to make it muffled, to protect it from noise. Accept the flakes of your tiredness and let yourself be completely covered by them.”
“I could die buried under there…”
“You will be reborn instead. Like the seed in the ground. Do not resist your weariness, do not reject it with a thousand actions, a thousand intentions, a thousand feelings of guilt. It just wants to take you by the hand and lead you to sink into the void. Right there, where the source of every inner strength lies. They taught us to be strong by resisting. But it is in surrendering that the true heroes emerge.”
Always been a favorite of mine since a young boy.
Jagged edges
Tearing my heart
Fragile soul
Ripping apart
Fractured thoughts
Locked down inside
Detonate
Like dynamite
Stop and breath
Cleanses deep
Exposing
What's underneath
Fallen down
Alone and lost
Carrying
A heavy cross
Jagged Edges
Smoothing with time
Shattered pieces
Realign
Hope shines in
Lighting the dawn
Inner demons
Have all withdrawn
Stop and breath
Cleanses deep
Exposing
What's underneath
Rising up
Seeking the truth
Redemption found
My faith renewed
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Closest metre | Iambic dimeter |
Characters |
A poem a day keeps the doctor away,
But what if neither poetry nor medicine can heal this dismay?
The seat that I sit in is locked in its ways,
And no musical chair can get it to play.
The tides of the ocean may continue to sway,
And the transition be made between night and day,
But not even the changing of the seasons has a say,
In how stuck this seat will continue to stay.
I wish I could stand, and move for awhile,
I wish I could run, maybe even a mile.
Oh the things I'd do, I'd cross the Nile!
But the chair is me, and I'm stuck to the tile.
Children should be seen, not heard
Who made up this rule?
If this is how you truly feel
Then you Sir, are a fool.
Many children go unheard
We look, but pass right by -
We’re much too busy with our own
To question them, but why?
A child should always have a voice
And someone needs to care -
They should not be hidden away
With bruises everywhere.
So look a little deeper
Than the depths of your own skin -
Hear the unheard children
See the world they’re living in.
Sticks and stones can break bones
And sometimes parents lie -
They teach their children what to say
And we’re afraid to pry.
While we are safe and tucked in warm
With family at home -
Outside on the streets at night
More unheard children roam.
They may be dressed up pretty,
But they don’t often smile -
They’re bought and sold in private
And enjoyed for a while.
Then they’re back out on the streets
Just to earn a dime -
Selling only what they have;
Their bodies and their time.
No - silence is not golden
When it comes at such a cost -
God help the unheard children
When their innocence is lost.
Scheme | ABXB ACXC XDED XFGF XCEC XHXH XIXI XJXJ GXGX |
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Closest metre | Iambic trimeter |
Characters | 1,084 |