Wednesday

Rounded Nights


Perched in grief, she sat at the edge of the bedA continuous sorrow flowed easily from her lungs

That year seemed a decade really...
A decade where tears sang under my door every night calling me to her side

I was struck dumb at my mother's broken heart
I would have done anything to correct this error,

this miscalculation of our future

But my thirteen years held no education

My education was to follow this decade of a year
I became a daughter wise beyond my father's infliction upon my mother's heart
Wise beyond the belief that restitution would ever be made

7 comments:

  1. Thank you Daryl. There is healing in the capturing of truth,no?

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  2. Omigosh. I am in the room with you as I reading this, and I can feel your mother's broken heart. Yours too.

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  3. Great poetry, sweetie.

    Tom

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  4. Not much makes ME cry. That is usually my job. Beautiful and haunting.

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  5. Powerful! I feel the real pain of a real person, not some flaky half-baked expression of ernestness. You get to the heart of the matter, thank-you.

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