She carried him through the valley.
She headed towards the park.
It was his favorite after all.
If he was allowed he'd stay way after dark.
She told him she loved him.
She told him again.
And again.
For it is he who truly has her entire heart.
She admires every piece him.
Like a very fine work of art.
She pushed him on the swing very high.
It was his favorite to touch the sky.
This went on forever. Grab a kleenex because you might cry.
For she was his mother.
And he her son.
His heart no longer beats she did deny.
His skin was pale blue.
His body so cold and stiff to touch.
But she had refused to give up.
It is not I who judges you.
Sad..sad oh so weary mother.
For I am certain you both loved one another.
She weeps with the coldest sorrow.
I've ever known.
As she pushes her dead son.
She pushed him as high as she could.
So maybe he'd finally touch heaven.
It is there where she can't wait to.
See him again.


-Jennifer DeAngelo
Copyrighted 2016