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14.8k · Mar 2015
sunday mornin'
Amy H Mar 2015
The coffee knows,
and my toes;
I can't move either.
House is quiet,
after the riot;
it's a breather.
Comes too fast,
a weekend passed;
not a pleaser.
Through a week,
your silent break
is just a teaser.
Feelin' lazy;
it's all hazy...
feeling lazy
8.2k · Mar 2015
under a rock
Amy H Mar 2015
my dad would say,
I was found under a rock.
worse things have happened.
there's life down there
we forget to see,
important work
to us all.
so maybe I count all the more
because of my

I'd say
I came to life
Dad, where did I come from?  "We found you under a rock."  Ha ha my dad really does love me, and I always knew it.  Listen to under a rock by Amy Hilton 4 #np on #SoundCloud
7.2k · Jul 2015
Amy H Jul 2015
grace my lips
with tenderness,
touch my spirit;
you will have me, won.
no matter the rest;
anatomy is dead in a minute.
if you want my soul,
know my eyes
and wake my lips
with honey.
There is nothing to replace sweetness.
6.8k · Mar 2015
honest truth
Amy H Mar 2015
Not every honest thought
is full of truth.
Careful what comes out
in times of heat.
For honest thoughts can sear
a face with tears.
But truth will serve
and make a union sweet.
4.4k · Jul 2015
Constant Poet
Amy H Jul 2015
The words are a playground,
no bell to call me in.
And wander I must
past fences, over grasses verdant
finding trees that take words
and split them like branches.
I eat the apples
leaving some of me behind along the way.
I am a constant poet.

If every morning that began with words in mind prompted a new poem, then I'd be a constant poet.  Like this morning, would have been a bit about gerunds and how you just shouldn't gerundize some nouns because it isn't right.  And then some are right but not because the connotation of the word or context remains the same.  Take pan and paning, for example.  One is breakfast and the other in film.  But anyway, if I'm allowed to not make sense often then perhaps I am a constant poet.  I asked the question, "Why is the expression take a ****?  Taking isn't what we do..." Perhaps the language affords us  many luxuries of interpretation that forgive literal correctness and rules.  Like writing a paragraph of prose for Hello Poetry.  But maybe we are here because we question the limits and take the license and more.  The words become a playground, not a chore.  Yes that's it!  My morning meandering leads to a single poetic thought.

The words are a playground,
no bell to call me in.
And wander I must
past fences, over grasses verdant
finding trees that take words
and split them like branches.
I eat the apples
leaving some of me behind along the way.
I am a constant poet.
Rambling.  Nothing but a rambling.  But I kinda like it.
Listen to Constant Poet, poem by Amy Hilton 4 #np on #SoundCloud
2.6k · Mar 2015
Amy H Mar 2015
the rain was just a drizzle
like my feelings any more
as we stood in awkward chat
and you can't find me any more.
not in here, at least,
in a quasi-happy fete,
with celebrations halted
because they make you fret.
I can't see my heart to give it
for it's always given back
and we'll stand in smoke and raindrops
with me turning myself black.
the black;
it can't reflect the light
so you'll perhaps not see
that my eyes have turned away
and my heart it didn't stay
and the part you have
is just the surface-me.
I won't let go, or let you in,
not again.
you'll only get the drizzle
not the swim.
My how it flows when it's a current, current.
2.4k · Mar 2019
Amy H Mar 2019
a wild heart can’t be broken,
a tame heart keeps the beat,
a heart like yours is spoken
within the sensual heat.
it’s sensitive and open
but careful and neat;
love in the smallest tokens,
the gestures we repeat.
so take the love that’s woken
into your soul so sweet-
a melody unbroken-
and make your mind’s retreat.
For Dollface.
2.1k · Sep 2015
a SUCCULENT acrostic
Amy H Sep 2015
Succumbing to
Undulation provoked by
Cunning words of a poet, I
Under the surface,
Nourished word like
Oh holy... Where did that just come from?  This can be the poet's surprise, can it not?
To be so moved by poetry, this is something understood by those who truly love the genre.  This is the intent of my piece.
1.9k · Oct 2017
Pen, please!
Amy H Oct 2017
Mike Hauser had a brilliant idea to “Pass the pen” and see where it got us.  This, Friends, is the result.

I write of the stars
I write of the moon
I write of the things
That I love to do
I write of the lies
While telling the truth
And when I am through
I pass the pen to you

I read the things
that went before
and add my thoughts
for you to write more
of things we love
and things we hate
so here's the pen,
now contemplate!

I wait like a kid
the anticipation
breaks my quiet
like a train in station
with thoughts
pouring out
like the traveling weary
so here's the pen
"now what's my hurry?"

While looking at this
And studying that
As our poetic peruse
Comes up to bat
With much more in store
From the writer's’ knack
I jot down my last line
Then pass the pen back

and now it get's fun
with my lines and yours
at least it keeps me
from doing my chores!
fingers be nimble
brain be quick
I finished this part
now here's the Bic.

With words tattered and torn
I have you here to mend
Don’t know where I’m going
Brain lights on dim
With little or no warning
Here it comes again
All on a whim
I hand you the pen

*so who will care
if we make no sense
“these poets here
must have the bends!”
but all the same
we’ve had our yen
it was a good run
let's retire the pen
Thanks Mike!  That was fun.  Now maybe some of you can grab a buddy and see what happens.  To put this in context, all the stanzas went round in under an hour.  A dizzying frenzy.
1.6k · Apr 2015
Cactus Moon
Amy H Apr 2015
cactus moon,
makes me swoon
as stars appear tonight;
my eyes reveal
the blossoms frill
have folded for the night.
but not my mind;
I often find
my dreams are locked so tight-
on fragrant flowers
and soft rain showers
and faces by moonlight.
bring me beauty,
love’s my duty,
sharing is my plight;
and in the garden
the Moon is warden,
the Universe is right;
as long as life
and sharpened strife
yield flowers to sunlight.
An evening to reflect on the purpose for two people...  To understand this poem, you would be familiar with cactus flowers and how they only bloom during the day, folding at night to reopen in the morning.  And this goes on for only a couple of weeks.  Like my Love, the blooms are worth watching for but temporary.  The darkness can close them down but I'll wait with the needles as long as the blooms will return by day.
1.6k · Mar 2015
Wonder, gently.
Amy H Mar 2015
A butterfly is beautiful until you feel you're sly,
moving close to touch her wings,
and then she may not fly.
But on her feet is magic that makes one flower,
Disturbing the dainty butterfly
Means fewer blooms for you.
Wonder, gently.
I wrote this poem inspired by experience.  At the time I was reminded that my pop always used to say, "You can wonder and wonder, and you'll still never know."  I realized how much we hurt others when we make assumptions.
1.5k · Apr 2015
Amy H Apr 2015
when goodnight brings resistance
and words say time to part,
I can't convince my heart
to do the same.
Time be still,
give me a moment, then,
hasten me here again.
It matters not the place
just the face.
Wherever there is we
I can breathe.
A goobye kiss.
1.4k · Sep 2015
Empty Shell
Amy H Sep 2015
Where is the poem,
the one I culdn't feel?
Escaped, like a flock of gulls
when all that's left is shells.
The mussels gone
or rotted
by heavy salty air;
exposed like a heart
to a fisherman
who never eats his catch
but hasn't the sense
to toss it in the water.
I am a shell,
with nothing succulent
to share.
Do you know the feeling?
Listen to Empty Shell, poem by Amy Hilton 4 #np on #SoundCloud
1.4k · Jul 2015
a good dog-gone morning
Amy H Jul 2015
A sound goes off from the other room.
oh boy who's coming in to see me?
should I play it cool with a glance,
or abandon myself belly up?
Here she comes,
and goes.
that **** smelly thing
I get this a lot.
if I could I'd break that coffee ***.
Here he comes,
oh yes,
I'll get this going.
my tail should work,
faster, faster, and a look him in the eye
But the door opens.
"Out.  Go ***."
always the same, "go ***"
be grateful your spot is inside
Open door.
person on couch!
oh boy!
it's my turn!
man, I love you
please scratch here, yes here
and this is the life
So forgiving,
no matter
how we make them wait.
Watching my two dogs eagerness is so fun.  I always grew up with a dog, but never had two.  Having more than one brings to attention the differences in their personalities.  But eagerness is something they all possess.  We probably should be taking a few plays from them.  It would sure make the people we love feel wanted, wouldn't it?
1.4k · Mar 2015
lovely breath
Amy H Mar 2015
Many a lovely sunset
has taught me how to breathe.
From magic light
my soul receives
a breath
so slow
             and far
                        and deep.

If only sunset
took all night
my immortal breath
would keep me right.
Just rambling on a former thought that trickled in during a hike at sunset.
Pardon all my editing folks.  I'm new here and still learning how the site works.
1.3k · Sep 2015
Amy H Sep 2015
How can I believe
by light of stars,
the things you speak?
I can see it in your eyes
the wine
makes inhibitions weak.

In this light
I'm special.
But this eve I know
that tomorrow
I'll be hidden;
nothing will show.

The faith you see,
the trust you feel
won't hang upon the wall.
By sobriety of sunlight
you'll have
no need to call.

Intoxicate my brain.
But fire in my soul,
is not as high.
When no one
tends the glow
the embers die.

You, master
teach me
what forgetting is.
My back is turned.
I have no need
and nothing to give.
Taken for granted.  Nothing gained, nothing ventured.  Even in zoology and anthropology, the dove will leave when nothing can be won from a hawk.
1.2k · Aug 2015
Quaking Aspens
Amy H Aug 2015
a congregation
of creation,
Aspens gather in;
between the hills
where sunshine fills
the church of the ravine.

triumphantly the hymns
that play
on many golden ray,
light the way
for trees that pray
and touch the Heavens' gate.

a gentle breeze
is not perceived
except on leaves of green,
whose bright colors
quake and nod
moved by a breath of God.

their branches white
bathed in moonlight
reflect a spirit strong,
stood straight these years
through storm and tears
with roots in solid ground.

the Aspen Grove
how I would rove
a childhood of dreams,
my spirit always
spoken to
in company of trees.
I was out for an evening walk when the image of canyons with the Quaking Aspens suddenly struck me.  I haven't seen these trees in ages it seems, but they were a frequent site in my youth.   Many a Sunday drive in the canyons...
1.2k · Jan 2019
The Turning Tree
Amy H Jan 2019
(a metaphor...)

Turning times on who I had to be
singed and fragile
rigid as a leaf
wont to tumble
in the wind;
make a fist
see her crumble,
death of Spring
scattered on the ground.

Winter comes
to soothe the scorching,
freezing scars
til finally
the hottest Summer ever
is remembered not felt.
But a tree like me
abides the changing season
emerges thriving.
Seasons of change
1.2k · Mar 2015
Gal in a Bar
Amy H Mar 2015
There once was a gal in the bar
who never thought she'd get far.
Her *** waved with dance,
the gents went to trance,
and for a night she was the star*.
1.2k · Mar 2015
Can the poet make you dance?
Amy H Mar 2015
Can the poet make you dance?
She could put you in a trance
with pretty words
like pirouette or waltz.
If you should start to shiver
when toes and fingers quiver
most assuredly it isn't
all her fault.
Just like music from a player
the rhythm starts to layer
but not unless you
choose to turn it loud.
And then we see you choke,
you poem-loving bloke.
Just being here we've
found your fancy out!
All in good fun, ladies and gents, and a pun for those who enjoy their poems privately.  ;-)
Listen to Can the poet make you dance? by Amy Hilton 4 #np on #SoundCloud
1.1k · Mar 2015
Ask Wisely
Amy H Mar 2015
If you listen,
If you dream,
If your heart fills with stars
At the thought of the Love
Binding you to your guides;
Then open your Spirit
And hear what they breathe.
For guidance will tell you
What you need.

Ask wisely, and it will be.
A verse about listening to inner wisdom.
1.1k · Mar 2015
heart of stone
Amy H Mar 2015
Take from my heart
this tender part
that longs to find
in you the same.
Too much to keep,
to hurt to fly,
afraid to play
a losing lovers' game.
And so in stone
it finds a home;
for if it hurts
then I'm the one to blame.
Sometimes you know before you can let go...
1.0k · Mar 2015
butterfly loved raven
Amy H Mar 2015
that night I read your note
your words
your song
and knew it was the butterfly
still chasing the raven;
who, with her heart caught in his mouth
sees the ground and fears the fall
from his lonely perch;
so drops the heart she gave to him
and doesn't even see it
there's her body
but out of reach, this heart
cannot be joined with her again
and ravens always crush what they catch.
the heart is his forever...
there under stars
and in our eyes,
you held me close and
kissed my eyes,
"I'm ready."
without demand I hoped;
loving my raven free,
raven drops these hearts
when they taste of fear.
but he forgets
and takes hers, new again
and this could go forever...
a dysfunctional cycle, with Raven the scavenger, and Butterfly who reinvents herself to start again
January, 2011
1.0k · Sep 2015
Amy H Sep 2015
My lips on wine, my mind on you,
My mind on wine, my lips on you.
Intoxication pure and sweet,
I drink it deep.
With my lips on you
                         my mind with you
                                             my whine in yours,
a sweet elixir
we drink deeply.
Love sweet love.  A quick little write.  Nothing special.
1000 · Sep 2015
only the poet knows
Amy H Sep 2015
Poems move in currents
changing speed and
splitting ways,
and we watch.
The rolling faire,
the words they share
leave beauty behind,
understood by one;
intentions only guessed
while images we digest
from origin unknown.
We read, we take,
we contemplate.
But unless traversing upstream,
over boulders,
holding rocks,
growing tired as we near the point of pain
we never see its start.
The water breaks through stone,
And where,
only the poet knows.
Interpretation is just that.  Poems are beautiful because we have to look a little more deeply.  Nothing beautiful is had for free.

Listen to only the poet knows by Amy Hilton 4 #np on #SoundCloud
952 · Aug 2015
the beast
Amy H Aug 2015
Shrouded in Liberty
it moves across the land
gorging on the hearts
and faith of
small ones;
they whose homes
invaded by the cause,
depleted of life,
of love,
of choice,
find protection
a misnomer.
Buried deep in details
of little consequence
where minutia
is a governor
stealing choice
to feed the appetite
of this machine.
Where has gone
the mighty power
that once united all;
will Freedom
end this war
before a mighty fall?
Bring back the ghosts
that won it well
the proud, the free and brave;
their spirits needed in our own
to lead us from our grave.
Apathy would bury us,
cloaked in ignorance of bliss
while shrouded in Liberty
the beast deceives;
No army advancing
but what we're sold,
driving back the small ones
step by step;
the edge of a grave
ready for us to slip
into darkness.
Our liberties are being taken away.  Keep your eyes open.
Listen to the Beast, poem by Amy Hilton Anson by Amy Hilton 4 #np on #SoundCloud
913 · Nov 2015
like stars
Amy H Nov 2015
Like stars
we rise
we shine
we flicker
we turn
we blaze
we burn
we die
we fall.

We live
with mystery,
but beautiful.
The energy
we show, misunderstood
except by our creation.
Dwarves compressed by pain,
displayed in open sky
where we hide
all but what we think is light.
But life is in the dark
between us all.
Somehow we see
like stars.
Inspired in the moment I remembered those two shooting stars from last night.
893 · Jun 2016
wipe out
Amy H Jun 2016
blinded by choice
you mistake me at will
for something ill.
take two minds
but clarity takes heart.
I do not write on walls,
I carve on sand.
but you the wave
would wipe away the moment
as if my heart
would scar the beach
you have eroded for yourself
and you prefer
to hide the truth
I speak.
where have gone my words?
sank beneath your toil
like whispers in white noise.
we can not hear a gentle breeze
when tide is high.
I am baffled but I can't stop the tide.
890 · Mar 2015
Amy H Mar 2015
When dreams become
nightmares that
twist in the brain,
how long can love
in the heart remain?
Will nothing ever
quench the flame
or fill the
lonely spaces?
As always it's you,
the affliction
and the cure.
When it isn't working...
859 · Dec 2015
my boat
Amy H Dec 2015
Hope is dashed
And interest lost
I've waved for a ship
that doesn't recognize my raft
most any day.
I am worthy of a rudder, commanded,
intention steered to find me,
moving into port
as though my little light were a beacon.
But still the ship moves past
until a cannon shot
leaves need for rescue;
And then my raft
she sinks with the weight.
I can't sail forward thus.
Waiting to be more.  Have you ever waited?
852 · Aug 2016
Amy H Aug 2016
Sunrise wakes me slowly,
moonlight lets me rest.
In between, the light of day
leaves nothing to confess.
If through the fading sunset
my heart sings sweet and loud
by sobriety of daylight
my mind can stop the sound.
What can come of dreaming
where joy will always win?
My life should be a day dream then
and love should never end.
It's new again.
832 · Mar 2015
the impulsive heart
Amy H Mar 2015
The heart can be impulsive,
the mind may sway to fear.
A body gets weak and tired,
but the soul, holds wisdom dear.
Be still and find the truth therein
it waits for you to hear.
No magic in the air, for us,
but winds that in-ward steer.
This is a very self-reflective verse about following your heart.
825 · Oct 2015
dad gum you're done
Amy H Oct 2015
like the flavor from bubble gum
after I've swallowed the last
juicy, sweet, bubble gummy bit
some time back.
after too many pops,
rolling and chewing and dying,
resisting my mouth
with no bit willing to stretch.
the ache in my soul
like jaws did all the work,
folding and pushing and missing
that you're no longer fun.
on warm ground
to find a shoe and grip,
unwelcome, scraped aside,
I've already got the good parts out.
Old gum when you realize you're chewing just to go through motions.
779 · Mar 2015
The Rose
Amy H Mar 2015
The Rose

Thorns may be along our path
but only between the roses.
Sunlight falls upon the blooms
white with my surrender.
Succumb I will to walk with Love
finding my soul in yours;
When you choose a rose for me
the gesture is a gift.
For a drop of blood
falls from your finger
and landing on petals soft,
transforms the white to brilliant red.
Our rose will live forever.
For lovers.
759 · Aug 2016
the muse
Amy H Aug 2016
a poem wrote me
almost before I knew.
my hand my mind my pen
just a muse
for sentiment that oozes
like sap from a tree
after Winter harsh and cold
has just released the grip
of icy fingers
melting into Spring.
a poem wrote me
while hungry earth
beneath my feet
waited for the sugar
nourishing seeds
growing the flowers
to prove that life goes on.
my life goes on
because a poem writes me
What just happened?!  The curse of random poetry.
741 · Mar 2017
who paints the dawn
Amy H Mar 2017
we meet by morning
you and I,
when our soft glow
doth light the sky;
when lovers wake
beneath the stars
we hide by day,
and guard with Mars.
we never meet
but always kiss
while our love hangs
in Heaven's bliss;
jealous of
the world below
where lovers' touch
they nightly know.
play on, the fools
of love, play on!
and don't forget who
*paints romantic dawn.
This morning a friend suggested I look at how the Moon hung in the sky like a second Sun.  This poem was the result.
740 · Feb 2017
true love hath no season
Amy H Feb 2017
this space between, no match
for tender thoughts.
my heart can find you
in the dark.
you have me.

I know not when love began;
once alive,
love hath no beginning.
and past my quiet lips
the music in my soul
bares dreams of certain joy,
made sweeter still
as memories of silence fade away.
were we ever not this way?

the mind can know a spot in time,
or reason,
but to the spirit
*true love hath no season.
When love came slowly.
730 · Jan 2017
my self
Amy H Jan 2017
my self most intimate,
keeping every scar alive,
albeit cloaked in metaphors
like bandages of silk
that hide the oozing;
my self most raw and
revealed in phrases
composed to ponder
with your time;
is here in lines of poems
playing like a child in the trees,
like a game of hide and seek
a breeze may help you win.
but to find me
you must read between my lines.
This one just appeared after writing a first poem for my new love.
710 · Jul 2015
Seven Ways
Amy H Jul 2015
loving you in seven ways to Sunday;
the ways you tend to meet my wandering mind.
Sophisticate, the world through prism light.
Movement, the uptight and the lithe.
Tenderness, sweet then bitter like wine.
Will, when true love fights.
Trinkets reminiscent.
Forever in cycles.
Soul I know because I see your eyes.
through seven days I know, even if you don't.
Because I can't say it.
692 · Apr 2016
My Sad Verses
Amy H Apr 2016
I've missed you.
But it's not your fault
you secret little ***** of my pain.
My interest never dies
I swear
though time for you
I haven't had to spare
since I've grown happier
with every passing day.
Do not complain.
I'll pick you up again
when my heart bleeds for no one
standing near.
For in an hour
that finds me lonely
I will want your listening ear
'neath my pen,
taking stains
so I don't have to wear them.
You take them,
hold them,
wait for me.
My little book of verses,
I'll return
with tears like kisses.
Bittersweet poems.
Amy H Aug 2015
0ff a boat
landing in a chair
at the back;
Vietnam to Utah,
one jungle to another.
But all signs
were foreign
and words, for naught.
Hiding in the girls' room
with tears
and no one to understand.
Laughing held some
hope for me
to make her part.
Those paper wads
dripping and sticky
grabbing the tile
with a smack;
they were just right.
Every smack
brought a crack
of lips that had
been silent.
Enter the custodian.

Exit all the kids,
but me.
The bell was no relief
until my teacher had his say
and my seat held me in
for an extra stay.
Well said Mom
You got what you asked for.
And though she couldn't say
I knew
the laughter was as much
to her as I.
It was the only time I was ever held after school. Trying to break language barriers, even then.
672 · Mar 2015
Amy H Mar 2015
Where is joy?
In that flower.
Can you climb inside with me?
Where is sweetness?
In the nectar,
carried far by bees.
For they know what we don't
that joy and sweetness must be spread
and life doesn't give the right
to hold it all,
all the time.
Don't stop the bees.
They'll come again,
if you wait.
In life is not happiness seasonal?
668 · Mar 2015
my book
Amy H Mar 2015
My book has empty pages
that only you can write.
I'll turn them, leave them blank.
I'm giving up the fight.
I could search forever
and wonder what they'd say.
But time will leave them empty-
words gone, just as those days.
Still my heart will wonder
if I m in your book?
Did I leave some pages empty?
Do you ever take a look?
The story is unfinished,
it's trapped in times before.
But words I cannot read
will echo evermore.
For the stories we write together.
607 · May 2018
between us
Amy H May 2018
I could write you in
between the lines,
slipping in nuance
like a kiss in the sheets;
but would you stay?
I wish to keep you in
the way you’ve gotten
neath my skin.
Hold me close
and whisper,
“take my body
feed my soul.”
A script we two
make the love
and write the prose.
601 · Jan 2017
like a melody he moves
Amy H Jan 2017
like a melody he moves
the rhythm of his mood
reflecting clouds;
grey turns to silver
shone on his head,
and a smile
so soft across his face
brings my mind
and longing to his space.
the dance of a rag in hand
smooth like jazz
caressing every surface.
nothing is neglected
by long legato strokes
along a smooth, pale canvas
cleared for his next composition
to do it all again.
I am jealous of his kitchen.
593 · Mar 2015
the Careful Catcher
Amy H Mar 2015
Be careful,
Because you...

Catch more flies with honey, bring more bees with flowers.
But you might find a bear or a thorn;
The times that you think it can't be worse
Are when to remember this little verse.
That if you can catch it, capture and keep it
Then love it and know it is yours.
But what comes to bother you surely must leave you
and you'll be alright of course.

May Mother Earth ground you, come what may;
God give you wisdom to send trouble away.
I wrote this verse for optimism, that troubles are never permanent.
588 · Apr 2016
the fortune of a dragon fly
Amy H Apr 2016
dragon fly with silver wings
see my soul and show me things.
in my heart and to his ear
sentient wisdom of love's nature.

song and wine have been for naught;
I have given all I've got.
a kindly deed and soft caress
the moonlight and the sun confess.

the wind can take you dragon fly
far past the reaches of my eye
to tell me if he thinks of me
in moments of serenity.

if I see your wings again
I shall know I have a friend.
though space and time we can not share
I will understand it, fair.
a rambling on the messages of nature and connection of souls
586 · Sep 2016
berry good
Amy H Sep 2016
like sugar on berries when I look at you
my heart gets soft and juicy
and I wonder what to do.
the sparkle in my eyes like frost on a pop
freezing my gaze on yours
and I don’t want to stop.
but berries and sugar are just a flavor
and what if you prefer
a bite with a little more savor?
I cannot tell what’s in your heart
or if you think I’m sweet
but I may fall apart.
this is either berry good or not at all
every berry crushing
under my fall.
oh that awkward stage of the first crush on someone
578 · Oct 2017
Amy H Oct 2017
“No,” she said “just no.”
I wilted,
watching her detachment
as if I was an insect crossing her plate
to be brushed aside.
Embarrassed, shutting down
where hope to share myself had sprung
but met her disdain.

But I’m your mom,
and they don’t care,
these strangers without a single string to your heart
or mine.

And yet she yanks on mine
as if my thoughts will hurt them.

What can I do
to get through to you?

It’s not my life but yours,
and someone else who loves you
that may fight
then move away.
I pray it’s not ahead for you.

I don’t have the luxury.
You demand my heart
the way you did my womb.
The hope of all our years
placed in my arms and at my breast
after sweat and tears had left my body.

My baby,
my everlasting love,
my singular weakness.
The one I could never turn away.
Dismissing a part of me with “No”
as if I need permission to be tender
and reveal myself.

Where did I go wrong?
I don’t allow this from anyone.
I walk.
But no one else has my soul by a cord,
through my heart,
taking nourishment for life
and sending back a sense of purpose.

Nothing greater in joy or pain,
than mother.
And this, I know,
is *ahead of me for life.
For anyone who has ever been bruised by their child.
570 · Mar 2015
Amy H Mar 2015
Time can be squandered, endured,
or enjoyed;
on your side, it is friend,
running out, a foe.

It's all we have to make life
worth living;
more can't be given,
but it's well spent in giving.
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