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Michael R Burch Apr 2020
Dawn
by Michael R. Burch

for Beth and Laura, and all good mothers

Bring your peculiar strength
to the strange nightmarish fray:
wrap up your cherished ones
in the golden light of day.

                                  Amen

Originally published by The Lyric

Keywords/Tags: Motherhood, good mothers, maternal, nurturing, caring, strength, courage, love, compassion, tenderness, human angels, golden light
Carlo C Gomez Feb 2020
Outgoing closet
With a shy hanger
Covering private parts
From open exposure
Sometimes a family
Shares the same space
But not the same views
Simon Oct 2019
Not restricted by it. Only restricted by it’s tame. Bright and vigorous! Tempting to be better than a dying phase. Light prompting the taming call of its energy. Becoming more vibrant. Conclusive to it’s claims. Parting ways without mentioning why dying light is its fate. Being tamed. Tempting to hold dear energy supplies for it’s withering gaze. Prompting to feel (it shouldn’t matter). Am I wanting to become more of a spectacle, or something?! I’m a dying light. Not the uptick in brighter horizons. Just the low dimming effect of a once broader frequency. Detesting the restrictions altogether. Nothing better to accept one’s fate. Rather then battling one thinking that (holding on, is a miracle). No! It’s a natural death sentence. And I’ll gladly pay it! If it means I get to be myself again. Dying light pays respects to its own slurring pause. I seeee…I seeeeeee… IIII…seeeeeeeee!!! I’m causing my own fate. Feeling the tame of its restrictions falling off. Like chains buckled to every brightened photon in the complex. Bright and vigorous! Just like last time. This was different. A struggle thinking (what isn’t a self damaging effect)? But a structure of succession! Never temping my dying phase. Which is smarter then accepting varieties. The slurring pause was no more. Restrictions were no more. I am dying light. And I will shine on other broken lights losing their light in self-deluded stages.
Light isn't equal if thinking it needs to be brightened more, just to fit in. It's not about others, until you accept your brightened ferocity revving in your heart!
Brent Kincaid Dec 2018
This is the sad song
Of men and women
Who create offspring
When they don’t like children.
They set their minds up
To repeatedly bear them
To avoid askance looks
And any open criticism.

So they suffer and complain
About what a heavy burden
It is for them to have to
Put up with their children.
Each day with the rugrats
Nets no child any praise
They see not much beauty
In the offspring they raise.

If a soul deprived mother
Never felt love of her own
She has none to spare,
No patience to condone.
The talk of these parents
Is of not having any peace,
No time of their own then,
No feeling of surcease.

It’s as if a child born
Has but few years to grow
Before needing to be an adult
Who will automatically know.
That they must know to parent
The sick adult needy one
Who doesn’t seem to like them
Or anything much they have done.

This is the sad tune of those
Who made many awful choices
But still have no use for any
Of loving, advising voices.
It’s a song too many sing;
The music heart breaking,
Yet few of those parents know
The sense of trust they are taking.
CC Oct 2018
I'm so sure you woke up next to your wrong side and said
"Nah, I'm gonna win today because you're not my partner in crime today"
It's efficient the way I can change perspectives to what I need at the moment
It's a chance I need to take in order to make believe I can make it.

No matter the consequences
It's about how much I can win today
Before the air in my lungs give out
And the skip in my feet give in

I hope you know how much I care, because you were always there
Your presence is always around
It made me believe in the right ideas
It made me believe I can do no wrong
I know I can be cruel sometimes
But I can be a good person
When the day comes that I don't try
Please remind me with a gentler nudge
Gentler than the way my mouth is quick
And my hands are heavy
Kinder that the daggers in my eyes
When I judge every boy who is in love
Meeker than a toddler going up to an elder brother
Asking him to help fix any precious moment he has left in this stage of his life
I can't help but see the light of day in the most bleak moment
It's everything I ever wanted
It's everything I ever hoped for
It's not the light at the end of the battle
It's the light every moment continued to become alive for
Hope is not a jousting contest
Where the truth fights with the facts
It's about something that you need cultivated
It's about something you need to promise
Make that pact with yourself
You cannot be wise
If you cannot admit to not knowing.
Make believe in the truth about yourself
That you can be carefree, with responsibility.
I love you
I hope you never lose the ability to be loving
Loving others with the light and strength that you know needs to be worked on
Be a light for others
Be a light that blind in strength
A light that blinds out complacency
A light that grows plants
And creates life
Sixolile Jun 2017
I would love to meet all of my selves;
To dine with, and hold clarifying conversations.
I have long been wary of my many personalities,
embraced them, and cherished each one of them.

I wish I could individually meet each one of them.
To hear them introduce themselves;
To hug me and comment on the pleasure of meeting me.
To understand them, as seperate persons outside of me.
To hear their stories,
what groomed who they are;
to hear about their days,
and talk about their feelings;
for them to tell me if I give them enough of me.
Do they even like me, or like being a part of me?

They mould who I am;
They are who I am.
They carry me when I am at my weakest;
They are weak with me, cry with me -
laugh with me, love with me,
and wander with me, at 3:55 am.

Would I enjoy them,
and want them to remain a part of my life?
Are they individuals with stories,
who also need to be heard?
Part of being understood is being heard.

We learn new things about ourselves all the time;
Maybe, that is how we meet our own selves:
In Epiphanies about our identities.
BlueRain Sep 2016
She's fragile, delicate, and tender at heart,
And even the slightest hurt could tear her apart.
But love her right, and kindness upon her bestow,
And stand back & watch her beautiful heart grow...*

#BlueRain
  iv.29/09/16
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