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AE Dec 2023
The inheritance of loss
Often told as a tragic story
I sit here writing
while gripping onto the edges of every passing day
hoping to change the narrative of this pain
I'm sorry to my daughter;
there were too many things I never solved
I walked with this heaviness
with a dream to transform the world for you
but instead, I lost and lost
and left these wounds on your carpet
watered a grass that was already dead
and called it advocacy
The inheritance of loss
is beaded into these gold bangles
the same ones my mother gave me
the same ones I keep for you
Steve Page Jan 2023
What I have passed on to my son
is often unclear to me.

I just know
that I had the grace to ensure
the package I passed on
is not the one I received

and that the extent to which
it will be unpacked and utilised
is not mine to determine.

That choice was part of the package.
I have grown up chiuldren - my son reported progress with his bathroom fittings and passed on advice concerning my health today.  Struck me how he's grown.  #inmysixties
Mark Toney Oct 2022
lack of future preparation - inherit debris fields of neglect

Mark Toney © 2022
Poetry form: Monoku - Mark Toney © 2022. All rights reserved.
Maria Diola Jul 2022
Love like a fountain
Promises so certain
Claim your mountain
God loves you and has good plans for you. He's got tons of promises that you need to claim by faith, just like what Caleb did.
"Not one of all the LORD’s good promises to Israel failed; every one was fulfilled." (Joshua 21:45)
"Now therefore, give me this mountain of which the Lord spoke in that day." (Joshua 14:12)
Àŧùl Apr 2021
He was born in 1924.
The month was November.
And the date was 20.

He passed away in 1991.
The month was September.
And the date was 25.

I couldn't consciously listen to him.
I missed out on a grandpa.
I could've learnt so much.

He also taught Sänskřŧäm.
My HP Poem #1924
©Atul Kaushal
BSween Mar 2021
Reflected apparent.
A tilted eye shows long
Stupefied sadness.
And the nose, swollen where it oughtn’t to be
Squats bulbous and surrounded by age.
Coated in a fine craquelure
That won’t be restored any time.
Somehow the working of a smile forces
Furrows deeper.
There is no wisdom in the life you forfeited.
And the pain is reflected in my own record.
My image made weaker in your likeness.
Yamini Mar 2021
Giving up is easy
excuses are easier
hard is to stay
and make them work is harder

Our archives were
who invested as
and results weren't flying along colours
and so discarded

Appreciation lies in their patience
Compassionate was their love
Beautiful was their compatibility
Love was theirs
and lovers were they

Options were lame
they wanted long answer type questions
luck wasn't in their list
but she was his destiny

All that never goes
that is preserved prestigious
in our small boxes of memories
that we would never allow to flee
these boxes are ours
and our heart soul all inherited
from him......
Ira Desmond Jan 2021
As we got older, it became clear
that we wouldn’t have the luxuries

of drink without worry,
of sleep without restlessness,

of raising children
without fear for their survival.

It became clear
that we would never garner

the respect of our elders
no matter how dearly we pined for it,

and that the world itself
would smolder

while those responsible
rested comfortably in their graves,

and those of us to whom
our forebears’ sins were bequeathed

would be left to choke on the smoke
and ashes

of a promise to posterity
allowed to burn instead.
Zywa Sep 2020
What inheritance

do we receive as children? –

Only the future.
“De heilige Rita” (“Saint Rita”, 2017, Tommy Wieringa)

Collection "Germ Substance"
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