I was standing proud
Holding my newborn in my arms
Looking around if someone was noticing me.
Look at me with this blanket wrapped wonder.
A bud to bloom in life.
I was, in away, a newborn too
No one had prepared me for this.
This feeling…..

When growing up nothing was to much for me.
That proud feeling never left.
I could sit and watch you from afar, thinking God has given me this wonderful human being, happy child.

Then gradually I saw a teenager developing. That came with up and downs.
Not mama’s little child anymore.
I saw you search your way through life
Thinking you knew it all.
Not listening anymore.
Saying,
how could I know better when it was a different time with things I myself didn’t grow up with.

Then bad news knocked on the  door. The unexpected.
The worst.

Mother, father in pain
While writing this I cry.
The proud of your life did something you can’t comprehend.
Very hard to accept. You still can’t understand how this was even possible.
In shock.

Know that this
doesn’t make you a bad parent. Did you fail your child?
Maybe, maybe not.
What happened can be the result of so many things.
When children become adults and doing their own thing,
are in bad company
you have no control over that.
Of course it is wrong and you’re disappointed and sad,
there could have been other solutions. But most things happen in the moment.
Your child failed you.
All your expectations were swept away in one slap.
Like a hurricane destroying everything you build.
It hurts so much….

You want to run away and towards at the same time
You want to yell and scream
and give comfort at the same time
Tell yourself everything is going to be alright.

What happened was wrong.
The parents are the first to acknowledge  that.
The first to feel the guilt.
And for what?
God forbid it doesn’t happen to you
So don’t judge.


Your child will always be your child. No matter what .
There can be a wall between you .
There can be bars separating you,
but the love
will always be there as will be the tears in the eyes and the pain inside.

Child,
Fruit of my womb.
The flower in my life.
No matter what.



Shell ✨🐚

It’s all going down
Ive hitched my self worth
To a sinking ship
Married to the sea
My heart is an anchor
Pulling me underneath
Sinking deeper
The distance between the surface and now
The static of hypothermia
Burns blue to black
The dancing moon light dulls
We haven’t hit the ground
The awful shock in my heart
I dread every word from your mouth
Gulping salt water
While air bubbles rush out
I scream oxygen
I hear only the pops of cold depth
Sound becomes numb
Not being heard or deaf
A life with you is a plunge
A ship on the ground to rust
My heart breaks
Before my lungs burst

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com  
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                                     ­ You Must Tell the Bees

The royal beekeeper…has informed the hives kept in the grounds of Buckingham Palace and Clarence House of the Queen’s death.

                                         -U. K. Daily Mail

But of course someone must tell the bees
Those wing’ed messengers among the realms
Who pass along the news of marryings and buryings
According to their proper place in the order of being

(or of bee-ing)

But of course someone must tell the bees
For their own health and ours they mourn the loss
Of master and mistress, and then welcome the new
With blessings of health and honey and blooms

But of course someone must tell the bees -
And they want to hear these things from you, if you please!

Days and nights
Making up life
Spending the seconds
As it passes by
Wondering what to do
Looking forward to nothing
Except daybreak and sunset
Phone has replaced friends
WhatsApp has pushed passions out
My phone and me
On a journey
Neither expected to be
Each other's sole company
Contacts in my phone book
Answer only when they are free
Way it is naturally
The phone doesn't know this
Which makes me the only
One to realise
That i have ended up lonely

When your pain’s too painful to be shared,
Put down your pen
Let us be spared.

Come back when the problems have resolved,
You’ll write again
That’s what your told.

Don’t burden us with an ugly thought,
Now hide your pain
That’s what we’re taught .

as an egg. My shell
is cracked. My insides
puddle on the floor. I'm a

sticky mess of goo with
a hollow shell, and bits of
pieces trying to hold on,

but flaking off. If I fell into
strong hands I'd dress up
as an omelet or a quiche

Lorraine, not a beaten coagulated
heap of pain, leaving my stain
on the planks of wood. If I was

fertilized I'd have the azure
sky as a canvas. And float among
the dancing clouds. If I was held warm

in a downy nest till I grew a pair
of wings, I'd fly off into the sunset
and have an early spring.