She has been fighting herself,
Holding herself back.  

The urgent innate feeling
To release these emotions
That she hides,
Is so strong.
It is eating her alive.

She is struggling
To keep these burdening,
Painful,
Heavy,
Emotions
Buried
Deep
Down
Inside.

If she were
To be overpowered
And defeated
By this feeling,
And if she went ahead  
To begin to try to transfer
These disturbing feelings
From her heart,
And from her soul,
Into her mind,

Where she would then
Transform them into words -
Words that would surely struggle
As they drip through her pen,
Staining her paper
With blood-red ink--tears...

These words would surely
Be too dark -
The ink would surely
Run through every page,
Beneath the sheet
In which she writes;
Soaking through each one of them,
Right down to the desk
In which they rest--staining it;
Hence, draining her pen.

They would surely
Be too heavy  -
The paper would not withstand
Their hefty weight -
The ink would dampen the sheet,
Tearing it,
Beyond repair.

The same way
These emotions
Have torn through her heart -

The same way
They have tattered
And stained her delicate soul.

The same way
He broke her lively spirit
Into peices
With his crushing words.

By Lady R.F. (C)2017

Once full of beauty and wisdom -
A quintessence
Of substance--among other things,

This bare-naked Oak Tree
With no movement in its limbs.

Stripped of vitality and spirit,

Decades of life gone with it.

Hope is not lost,
Her lively old-self may return
Upon season's change,

The climate around her
Has been somewhat strange.

Her heart, broken, still beats -

Longing to reflect her beautiful soul
Through her leaves;
Internally, she weeps.

By Lady R.F. (C)2017

Only when we become a Mother
Do we truly understand
How much pain comes
With unconditional love,

It is only then
That we realise
How much it hurts
To be rejected
When push comes to shove.

To be taken for granted
Unintentionally,
Or not,

To be disrespected,
Misunderstood,
And talked-down-to, alot.

Only when we become a Mother
Do we fully comprehend
That our Mothers
Did the best that they could,

They, too, just like us,
Had their own issues
To deal with;
They didn't burden us,
We wouldn't have understood!

They cried just as much
As they smiled--if not more!
They gave more than
They ever received,

They placed everyone's needs
Before their own--since the day
That we were conceived.

They held back tears
Whenever we upset them,

They died inside
Whenever we neglected them
And disrespected them.

Whenever we patronised them -
Whenever we were condescending,

Whenever we blammed them -
Whenever we took them for granted -
When we gave no thought
Nor tried to be understanding.

They only ever wanted
The best for us -
They gave of themselves
Completely;
Something nobody else
Was ever capable of,
Or willing to do!

Only when we lose our Mothers
Do we live with the regret,

A true blessing,
A pure love we were given--
Irreplaceable;
Our first real love,
The one love
We will never,
Ever,
Replace or forget!

By Lady R.F. (C)2017

The infinite unsettling void
Is the point and place
Where her poetry begins -
Arises--where it is derived.

The infinite relentless void
Allows time and space
For her never-ending poetry
To be conceived;
This is how her soul
Is satisfied!

The Infinite lonely void,
Houses emotions -
With graceful words
They are interweaved,

Continually,
The void drives
Her poems to emerge -  
Allowing her soul
To feel momentarily,
Somewhat,
Relieved!

By Lady R.F (C)2017

Dusting off the dirt
from my shoes well worn.

They've travelled far
and had tasted all manners
of earth.

Soles now parched,
and leather all beaten.

Eyes laced close,
scuffs and tears
crying for a mend.

Tongue lolled limp,
dislocated and misplaced.

These shoes,
they beg for a life
much different.

But these feet
knows and wants
the only ones
that fit.