May 2014
Each day my son through thoughtful eyes
looked up to me through his laughter
Knowing I would be kind and wise
from that time and ever after
Once bitten from pain of divorce
I had shed teardrops of my own
From depths my boy had drug me back
he had never left me alone
Then came the moment I had feared
when my temper did hurt my son
Deep like the pain from my divorce
left me to ask, "what have I done"
Behind those eyes there rose a tear
the first blood I had ever drew
From the depths of his tiny soul
where innocence bid me adieu
Fearing grief would hinder his sleep
and not knowing what I should say
I looked to find him in slumber
there beside our picture he lay
Asleep in pain his eyes had closed
I felt my heart begin to moan
A sole tear lie upon his cheek
where I left a few of my own
So now whenever I am asked
to bless him with my permission
I think on what I lost that day
when I forced on him submission
Tate
http://www.writerscafe.org/writing/aristate/717995/
looked up to me through his laughter
Knowing I would be kind and wise
from that time and ever after
Once bitten from pain of divorce
I had shed teardrops of my own
From depths my boy had drug me back
he had never left me alone
Then came the moment I had feared
when my temper did hurt my son
Deep like the pain from my divorce
left me to ask, "what have I done"
Behind those eyes there rose a tear
the first blood I had ever drew
From the depths of his tiny soul
where innocence bid me adieu
Fearing grief would hinder his sleep
and not knowing what I should say
I looked to find him in slumber
there beside our picture he lay
Asleep in pain his eyes had closed
I felt my heart begin to moan
A sole tear lie upon his cheek
where I left a few of my own
So now whenever I am asked
to bless him with my permission
I think on what I lost that day
when I forced on him submission
Tate
http://www.writerscafe.org/writing/aristate/717995/
Whenever my son asks for my permission I always ask myself now, who will it hurt if I say yes? If the answer is only myself I always say yes. A lesson I learned the hard way. It seems I learn best that way. I should say the reference in this poem to blood being spilled was metaphoric, not literal. In this case I had just lost quite a bit in the divorce and was distraught. Little Tate just wanted my attention. When he started nagging me I turned on him and launched a tirade his way. The look on his face as a tear arose from his soul was heart wrenching. Having never seen me so upset he was devastated. The barb launched his way rebounded off his innocence to strike me dead center in my own heart. I had broken both our hearts. If ever an experience wrung the very water from my soul, this was it!
