Prism’s

Your pain,
is poetry,
a painting a drawing a piece of artwork,
spill your oily acrylic ink on me,

let’s make a mess of this fuss,
then forget it all in the clarity of luminous trust,

true,
you,
are poetry,
thoughts are the pen the place is the page,

detain your humane pain,
then express it plane in an artistic campaign,
through your prism’s windowpane,
until all that remains is your frame totally unrestrained,

your pain,
is poetry,
a painting a drawing a piece of artwork,
spill your oily acrylic ink on me…

∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆

How much love you gave,
I can't comprehend.
To me and for me,
Your happiness you were willing to give.

As a selfless soul would;
You stood for unconditional love.
You'd drop everything in a heartbeat,
Just to help me rise above.

Rise above my pain,
& Overcome my sorrow.
You did everything for me mom,
I wish our past moments could be borrowed.

You trained me how to interpret fear,
Your grit formed my strong back.
False Evidence Appearing Real;
The acronym is opposite in fact.

You stood up to those;
The few foolish to stand in your way.
These figures turned into your obstacles,
& your mental fortitude made them obey.

To see the big picture,
Is the mission you'd convey.
Interpreting small aspects of life as miracles,
Your belief system made me want to stay.

Stay by your side,
I never wanted to leave.
You reassured me of your vitality;
& This helped me momentarily go away.

Away to form my life,
Constantly looking to you for advice.
Your wisdom gave me strength,
& this I'll never deny.

Last night was the time,
For your moment of truth.
For once I was glad to be woken up,
As your soul passed along through.

Now there’s no you, because you are me too.
We became one last night,
The night your pain dissolved out of the blue.

God has an angel,
He must have needed you so.
He knows my love for you is irreplaceable;
& the hurt will forever show.

The shell shock is real,
& no one can be ready.
I want you to know I love you mom,
& this feeling will remain permanently steady.

▪○●☆○●♡●○●♡◇♡●○●♡●○☆●○▪

A rare thing, my Mother's touch.
Though it was she I desired,
her babies I lovingly embraced.

Letting us make messes.
Be boisterous.
Expected independence.
“You do it, you learn it”
Helped us raise each other,
myself in the lead.

Our imaginary
world, rarely interrupted,
allowed us the freedom
to entertain ourselves.
Mom was not one to coddle,
but to patiently teach.
Cooking, gardening,
care giving.
To plant a tree,
and properly prune.
Create a thriving home
for salamanders.
Names of plants and trees.
Cloud formations.
how to patch up bloodied
knees and noses.

My Mother knew how to
transport a station wagon
filled to the brim with kids.
Provided us with masking
tape to square off our own
territory, creating safe
havens from point A to B.

She was fearless during
that overwhelming time.
Chaotic household of
youngins’ needs.
Teens tempers, mixed
with yearnings and desires
She taught us perseverance.
Eyes forward
No matter... calm or storm.

Her demeanor,
devoted and gentle.
Yet, fierce in determination.
An educated “No bones about it”
woman. A nurse.
Cute in a clean,
crisp natural way.
A woman of extraordinary
capabilities, rarely
comfortable with a compliment.

Not one to linger in a
moment of luxury.
To be soft and silly.
Or settle in for a deep cuddle.
The way she was raised
amongst her kin of many,
being the youngest.
from a different time.

Regardless of my perspective,
She loved enough to
make 5 children.
Provided food.
and kept us clean.
Encouraged the decoration of
our bedrooms to our
personal delight.
Allowed dogs and bunnies
to share our lives.
Insisted on the five food groups
at each evening's family meal.

These days, I cherish the hand
picked cards always mailed on
time for occasions and
holidays. ThankYou notes for
every kindness shown her way.
With her gardens beautifully
tended, herbs carefully harvested
and patiently dried, at Christmas
she labeled recycled spice bottles
collected from here and there.

Yesterday I gathered them,
Small glass vessels in hand.
My name and the date,
meticulously written by
her hand on white labels.
Over time, I have
saved them all.
Ingredients left intact.

My Mother's language of
love lined up in front of me,
these Little Bottles,
a culmination of the years.
Aromatic herbs
tenderly tucked inside.
I understood then,
I had been
Held in Mother's
arms all along...
I just never knew how to
fully accept her embrace.

▪○●☆○●♡●○●♡◇♡●○●♡●○☆●○▪

Copyright © 2016.
Christi Michaels.
All Rights Reserved