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Meri aankho ka tara hi , mujhe aankhe dikhata hai Jise har ek khushi de di , wo har gam se milata hai Jubaa se kuch kahu , kaise kahu , kisse kahu maa hu Sikhaya bolna jisko , wo chup rahna sikhata hai || Sula kar soti thi jisko Wo ab shab bhar jagata hai Sunai loria jisko , wo ab taane sunata hai || Sikhane me usse kya kuch kami meri rahi sochu Jise ginti sikhayi galtiya meri ginata hai || Tu gahri chao hai gar zindgi ek dhoop hai Amma Dhara pr kab kaha tujh sa koi swaroop hai Amma Agar ishwar kahi par hai usse dekha kaha kisne Dhaa par tu hi ishwar ka koi roop  hai Amma || Naa ucchai sacchi hai naa ye aadhar saccha hai Maa koi cheej sacchi hai naa ye sansaar saccha hai Magar dharti se ambar tak yugo se log kahte hai Agar saccha hai kuch jag me to Maa ka pyar saccha hai || Jara saa der hone par sabhi se puchti Amma Palak jhapke bina darwaja ghar ka taakti Amma Har ek aahat par uska chouk padna fir duaa dena Mere ghar laut aane tak barabar jaagati Amma || **|| Puchta hai Koi Dunia me Mohabbat hai kaha Muskura deta hu mai or yaad aa jati hai Maa ||** Sulane ke lie mujhko to khud jaagi rahi amma Sirrhane der tak aksar meri baithi rahi amma Mere sapno me pariya phul titli bhi tabhi tak the Mujhe aanchal me apne le ke jab leti rahi amma || Badi choti rakam se ghar chalana jaanti thi maa Kami thi par badi khusiya lutana jaanti thi maa Mai khushhaali me bhi rishto me bas duri bana paya Garibi me bhi har rishta nibhana jaanti thi maa Laga bachpan me yu andhera hi mukaddar hai Magar maa hausala dekar yu boli tumko kya dar hai Koi aage niklne ke lie rashta nahi dega Mere baccho badho aage tumhare saath hai amma Kisi ke jakhm ye dunia to ab silti nahi amma Kali dil me ab to preet ki khilti nahi amma Mai apanapan hi akshar dhundta rahta hu rishto me Teri nischal si mamta to kahi milti nahi amma Gamo ki bheed me jisne hume hasna sikhaya tha Wo jiske dam se tufanoo ne apna sar jhukaya tha Kisi v julm ke aage kabhi jhukna nahi bete Sitam ki ummr choti hai mujhe maa ne sikhaya tha || ||
0
Feb 17, 2017
Feb 17, 2017 at 12:39 AM UTC
shashank-k-dwivedi
Humari Soch Aur MAA
Meri aankho ka tara hi , mujhe aankhe dikhata hai Jise har ek khushi de di , wo har gam se milata hai Jubaa se kuch kahu , kaise kahu , kisse kahu maa hu Sikhaya bolna jisko , wo chup rahna sikhata hai || Sula kar soti thi jisko Wo ab shab bhar jagata hai Sunai loria jisko , wo ab taane sunata hai || Sikhane me usse kya kuch kami meri rahi sochu Jise ginti sikhayi galtiya meri ginata hai || Tu gahri chao hai gar zindgi ek dhoop hai Amma Dhara pr kab kaha tujh sa koi swaroop hai Amma Agar ishwar kahi par hai usse dekha kaha kisne Dhaa par tu hi ishwar ka koi roop  hai Amma || Naa ucchai sacchi hai naa ye aadhar saccha hai Maa koi cheej sacchi hai naa ye sansaar saccha hai Magar dharti se ambar tak yugo se log kahte hai Agar saccha hai kuch jag me to Maa ka pyar saccha hai || Jara saa der hone par sabhi se puchti Amma Palak jhapke bina darwaja ghar ka taakti Amma Har ek aahat par uska chouk padna fir duaa dena Mere ghar laut aane tak barabar jaagati Amma || **|| Puchta hai Koi Dunia me Mohabbat hai kaha Muskura deta hu mai or yaad aa jati hai Maa ||** Sulane ke lie mujhko to khud jaagi rahi amma Sirrhane der tak aksar meri baithi rahi amma Mere sapno me pariya phul titli bhi tabhi tak the Mujhe aanchal me apne le ke jab leti rahi amma || Badi choti rakam se ghar chalana jaanti thi maa Kami thi par badi khusiya lutana jaanti thi maa Mai khushhaali me bhi rishto me bas duri bana paya Garibi me bhi har rishta nibhana jaanti thi maa Laga bachpan me yu andhera hi mukaddar hai Magar maa hausala dekar yu boli tumko kya dar hai Koi aage niklne ke lie rashta nahi dega Mere baccho badho aage tumhare saath hai amma Kisi ke jakhm ye dunia to ab silti nahi amma Kali dil me ab to preet ki khilti nahi amma Mai apanapan hi akshar dhundta rahta hu rishto me Teri nischal si mamta to kahi milti nahi amma Gamo ki bheed me jisne hume hasna sikhaya tha Wo jiske dam se tufanoo ne apna sar jhukaya tha Kisi v julm ke aage kabhi jhukna nahi bete Sitam ki ummr choti hai mujhe maa ne sikhaya tha || ||
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43
What luxury to get mad about last night's basketball loss and watch the full moon descending at the speed the earth turns. Things could get worse personally and for the community. Bombings, killings, anomie boiling frogs and witches cursing. The changing climate, typhoons in the Philippines, volcanoes and tsunamis, WWII which I missed, Thanksgiving nor'easter, Easter twister. What abundance to fast or feast, your choice, stay inside by the stove or go outside, climb the mountainside. Live in a city or small town. So I raged at the coaches for their lazy zone defense like an alien in the bleachers unable to affect the outcome. When my sons came home I yelled at them too. What opulence to be angry about nothing of consequence neither stopped by the cops nor slipped on the ice.
0
Nov 7, 2017
Nov 7, 2017 at 6:13 AM UTC
robert-ronnow
Jack's Time Out
What luxury to get mad about last night's basketball loss and watch the full moon descending at the speed the earth turns. Things could get worse personally and for the community. Bombings, killings, anomie boiling frogs and witches cursing. The changing climate, typhoons in the Philippines, volcanoes and tsunamis, WWII which I missed, Thanksgiving nor'easter, Easter twister. What abundance to fast or feast, your choice, stay inside by the stove or go outside, climb the mountainside. Live in a city or small town. So I raged at the coaches for their lazy zone defense like an alien in the bleachers unable to affect the outcome. When my sons came home I yelled at them too. What opulence to be angry about nothing of consequence neither stopped by the cops nor slipped on the ice.
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24
You used to tell me that beautiful things come from pain and adversity. Like motherhood, unconditional love, and true stories. As I stood in the middle of a room painted white, Staring at the remains of rolling hills burned to black, I saw you staring back at me. Burnt fields like black panther fur Shining against your bones Velvet black You’ve changed And changed and changed Yet your love still remains Burnt fields like black panther fur Whiskers are the needles on a compass Always pointing to the azure sky You used to sing when I cried Rolling your r’s over rrolling hills A haunting melody startling black birds into the night Feathered constellations against a sliver moon And lips pressed to my salty cheeks You told me that your favorite skin tone was chocolate, As you laid out in the sun hoping to melt. “A quarter black” is what you say when you want to feel proud, Even as you tell me stories of how your mother was called negrita, The girl who stood too dark amongst the crowd. Burnt fields like black panther fur Black like the broken wings of mothers before you Who had hands with scars from cotton seeds And blue veins like uprooted trees Stretching all the way to their tired knees Burnt fields like black panther fur You criticize your aging beauty Speaking in envy of the color gold Like you are a broken bowl in need of kintsugi Yet silver snakes still slither Over the pebbled river beds of your black curls Dripping down the small of your back Until they reach the base of your ivory spine Burnt fields like black panther fur You criticize your aging beauty Because you never thought Cocoa lips and sun spots painted on sculpted clay that never cracks Could ever look as stunning as it does on you You told me that it is better to speak my truth then tell pretty lies. So I told you mine and you cried, And cried and cried. But look where we are now, Standing beside each other with the same eyes, Just different reflections. Burnt fields like black panther fur Tongue like a sword set ablaze Tempered in pools of milk and honey Blood red sun grazing the tops of your eyelids Still reminiscent of those in old photographs Where you saw the little girl you search for in me Burnt fields like black panther fur I am sorry I made you cry But even when our backs are turned We are still Black birds singing in the dead of night Free Thank you mama for my broken wings.
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Nov 15, 2018
Nov 15, 2018 at 3:11 PM UTC
apomegranatesmemoir13
Burnt Fields Like Black Panther Fur
You used to tell me that beautiful things come from pain and adversity. Like motherhood, unconditional love, and true stories. As I stood in the middle of a room painted white, Staring at the remains of rolling hills burned to black, I saw you staring back at me. Burnt fields like black panther fur Shining against your bones Velvet black You’ve changed And changed and changed Yet your love still remains Burnt fields like black panther fur Whiskers are the needles on a compass Always pointing to the azure sky You used to sing when I cried Rolling your r’s over rrolling hills A haunting melody startling black birds into the night Feathered constellations against a sliver moon And lips pressed to my salty cheeks You told me that your favorite skin tone was chocolate, As you laid out in the sun hoping to melt. “A quarter black” is what you say when you want to feel proud, Even as you tell me stories of how your mother was called negrita, The girl who stood too dark amongst the crowd. Burnt fields like black panther fur Black like the broken wings of mothers before you Who had hands with scars from cotton seeds And blue veins like uprooted trees Stretching all the way to their tired knees Burnt fields like black panther fur You criticize your aging beauty Speaking in envy of the color gold Like you are a broken bowl in need of kintsugi Yet silver snakes still slither Over the pebbled river beds of your black curls Dripping down the small of your back Until they reach the base of your ivory spine Burnt fields like black panther fur You criticize your aging beauty Because you never thought Cocoa lips and sun spots painted on sculpted clay that never cracks Could ever look as stunning as it does on you You told me that it is better to speak my truth then tell pretty lies. So I told you mine and you cried, And cried and cried. But look where we are now, Standing beside each other with the same eyes, Just different reflections. Burnt fields like black panther fur Tongue like a sword set ablaze Tempered in pools of milk and honey Blood red sun grazing the tops of your eyelids Still reminiscent of those in old photographs Where you saw the little girl you search for in me Burnt fields like black panther fur I am sorry I made you cry But even when our backs are turned We are still Black birds singing in the dead of night Free Thank you mama for my broken wings.
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60
Our old uncle, Daedalus,      he'd grin when he spoke to us His mouth was missing teeth and so his wisdom flowed out free He always smelled of cheap cigars      alleyways and corner bars He'd tell us he had seen the world      and this was his decree:      "Don't fly too high, you little *****        You just might live to pay for it.        The Sun is always hot,        the ground gets harder every day." "But, Daedalus," we would complain, "You are old and we would fain see the sights you saw before           we sleep beneath the clay." And dear old Uncle Daedalus      he'd laugh and spit and swear at us "You ******* little ***** had better heed the tale I tell. This life is one big ******* maze with twists and turns and tricks to play. The kings control the monsters, who make Earth a living Hell." We'd try to listen, try to thank him for the words, but his breath stank and, anyway, we thought that he                had prob'ly **** himself But dear old Uncle Daedalus hung Death from lips that spoke to us and ****** if he weren't right about the things he always said: "Inventiveness works, by and by with daring, you may taunt the sky                                    like I did                                   but the fall is long-- my dreams and son are dead." He always smelled of cheap cigars      alleyways and corner bars "You ******* little ***** had better heed the tale I tell..." "Don't fly too high, you little ***** You just might live to pay for it. The kings control the monsters, who make Earth a living Hell."
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May 16, 2014
May 16, 2014 at 6:10 PM UTC
kyle-kulseth
Dear Old Uncle Daedalus
Our old uncle, Daedalus,      he'd grin when he spoke to us His mouth was missing teeth and so his wisdom flowed out free He always smelled of cheap cigars      alleyways and corner bars He'd tell us he had seen the world      and this was his decree:      "Don't fly too high, you little *****        You just might live to pay for it.        The Sun is always hot,        the ground gets harder every day." "But, Daedalus," we would complain, "You are old and we would fain see the sights you saw before           we sleep beneath the clay." And dear old Uncle Daedalus      he'd laugh and spit and swear at us "You ******* little ***** had better heed the tale I tell. This life is one big ******* maze with twists and turns and tricks to play. The kings control the monsters, who make Earth a living Hell." We'd try to listen, try to thank him for the words, but his breath stank and, anyway, we thought that he                had prob'ly **** himself But dear old Uncle Daedalus hung Death from lips that spoke to us and ****** if he weren't right about the things he always said: "Inventiveness works, by and by with daring, you may taunt the sky                                    like I did                                   but the fall is long-- my dreams and son are dead." He always smelled of cheap cigars      alleyways and corner bars "You ******* little ***** had better heed the tale I tell..." "Don't fly too high, you little ***** You just might live to pay for it. The kings control the monsters, who make Earth a living Hell."
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45
son spreads knee blood into ******* &/or sidewalk chalk. mixes reds to pinks with head cracking asphalt. of god & country. of soggy bread in a lunch-bag; snackpack readied. he skates. the concussed ****** of booming youth. omega he: to the wolf pack outers. breathing love of summer, he is the son drunk on hi-c & burping. watching teenaged supersoakers yodel on a bridge. florida. son sneaks out late to rationalize the city’s features under strange light & love of nightly people. boy sculpts body out of beast, turned dark corners. arrives swollen. his father erects a roofed flattop in the backyard slab with flood light electronics taught to worship the shred. mother rattles the blender on the kitchen outskirts, ***** breathed & nearing with hugs. blister-itched. glossed folds of scar tissue. those days on summer-beyond when the neighborhood pulsates. with satellite dishes tuneforking high-frequency vibrations from outerspace & pigeons explode. son’s ears bleed, & the television goes unwatched. he snaps plank & ankle protein, refurbishing his legs into iron-rods or wands of summer anthem. cold war. he empties sugar-sweat & toxins into the storm-drain. essence of wet heat, skin pinched, & friend of ghosts. a three legged dog lay in the shade leisurely watching the boy skate on endless.
0
Apr 1, 2014
Apr 1, 2014 at 1:11 AM UTC
CoopLee
skateboard gothic
son spreads knee blood into ******* &/or sidewalk chalk. mixes reds to pinks with head cracking asphalt. of god & country. of soggy bread in a lunch-bag; snackpack readied. he skates. the concussed ****** of booming youth. omega he: to the wolf pack outers. breathing love of summer, he is the son drunk on hi-c & burping. watching teenaged supersoakers yodel on a bridge. florida. son sneaks out late to rationalize the city’s features under strange light & love of nightly people. boy sculpts body out of beast, turned dark corners. arrives swollen. his father erects a roofed flattop in the backyard slab with flood light electronics taught to worship the shred. mother rattles the blender on the kitchen outskirts, ***** breathed & nearing with hugs. blister-itched. glossed folds of scar tissue. those days on summer-beyond when the neighborhood pulsates. with satellite dishes tuneforking high-frequency vibrations from outerspace & pigeons explode. son’s ears bleed, & the television goes unwatched. he snaps plank & ankle protein, refurbishing his legs into iron-rods or wands of summer anthem. cold war. he empties sugar-sweat & toxins into the storm-drain. essence of wet heat, skin pinched, & friend of ghosts. a three legged dog lay in the shade leisurely watching the boy skate on endless.
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45
“I am a warrior, so that my son may be a merchant, so that his son may be a poet.” John Quincy Adams, 6th President of the United States <> a bad weakness, mine, mess with the perfect of others, unsure what to add that will addictive illuminate further, but as homage, a tribute, a salute got to got too, no middle class delayed gratification for me, none, whatsoever, read the words and my own hands choke me as if to pull out, to free the upsurging words in my chest-forming, to uplift me up, from the floor where I am roiling in wonderful wonderment at a prophecy come true my recent family history, about 400 years worth, got it written down someplace, escapees from a Spanish Inquisition, a Roman one before that, meandering Jews who found a respite, a small welcome in a small village in Germany (the irony does not go unnoticed) from villager to merchant, from tiny town to big city folk, we went, warriors if any, kept secret, best unheard, attract no attention, but do what survival doesn’t always politely request here I am child of the proverbial wandering jew, fancy me a poet with, at best, a very small p, one of three children, historians, book writers, scholars and even poet~traders, and so a President’s words, hammer my cells upon an anvil for human skins, the future shape of me foreseen and I think to myself, alone and out loud: This, This! is what makes America great,  welcoming the stranger, even predicting their possible pathway to a peaceful existence, giving their descendant’s generations liberty, liberty to become poets, free, who can stand upright*
0
Jun 25, 2019
Jun 25, 2019 at 1:47 PM UTC
nat-lipstadt
“I am a warrior, so that my son may be a merchant, so that his son may be a poet.
“I am a warrior, so that my son may be a merchant, so that his son may be a poet.” John Quincy Adams, 6th President of the United States <> a bad weakness, mine, mess with the perfect of others, unsure what to add that will addictive illuminate further, but as homage, a tribute, a salute got to got too, no middle class delayed gratification for me, none, whatsoever, read the words and my own hands choke me as if to pull out, to free the upsurging words in my chest-forming, to uplift me up, from the floor where I am roiling in wonderful wonderment at a prophecy come true my recent family history, about 400 years worth, got it written down someplace, escapees from a Spanish Inquisition, a Roman one before that, meandering Jews who found a respite, a small welcome in a small village in Germany (the irony does not go unnoticed) from villager to merchant, from tiny town to big city folk, we went, warriors if any, kept secret, best unheard, attract no attention, but do what survival doesn’t always politely request here I am child of the proverbial wandering jew, fancy me a poet with, at best, a very small p, one of three children, historians, book writers, scholars and even poet~traders, and so a President’s words, hammer my cells upon an anvil for human skins, the future shape of me foreseen and I think to myself, alone and out loud: This, This! is what makes America great,  welcoming the stranger, even predicting their possible pathway to a peaceful existence, giving their descendant’s generations liberty, liberty to become poets, free, who can stand upright*
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42
What I have in my hand Does what I say What I have in my hand I’ve had for more than one day I’ve held it close Yet never afraid I’ve held it close So it stayed Close to my heart Where I always pray That I don’t lose its sight Any day It keeps me happy That I don’t have to use it It gets me sad When I see others abuse it He told me I made him proud That one day I could be Just like him and receive A present From him to me To show his love Of the family He gave me His father’s heart From son to son It’s his father’s heart In the form of a gun
0
Dec 7, 2014
Dec 7, 2014 at 1:06 AM UTC
romeow4
GUN
What I have in my hand Does what I say What I have in my hand I’ve had for more than one day I’ve held it close Yet never afraid I’ve held it close So it stayed Close to my heart Where I always pray That I don’t lose its sight Any day It keeps me happy That I don’t have to use it It gets me sad When I see others abuse it He told me I made him proud That one day I could be Just like him and receive A present From him to me To show his love Of the family He gave me His father’s heart From son to son It’s his father’s heart In the form of a gun
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29
“The love betweenness^ a mother and her son” when it’s healthy strong and ancient, like this, is for me, and it seems, for you as well, almost a supernatural force in certain ways. I know many other women who understand this. It’s been probably the best surprise of my life.” Medusa sometime, a poem commission needs a quiet time rumination, a seventh inning time out to birth a perfect game, a mental stretch mark, did your know your commentation was a commandation, write me up, punch my ticket and jump back into murky waters, where a hu-man boy child only gifted me a tertiary imagination, comprehensive incomprehension this look upon differing and different, parenting parts of me, with the bright den mother’s sun gazing eyes of a new motherland, promotion to an incessant guardianship, an ordered mathematical centrality,^ a forever buck private’s uniform shoulder stripe pointing to mom maternal rhymes with eternal for children go off and go on about their lives, occasionally glancing backwards, but a mother’s eyes are an all encompassing, an all white canvass painting that the artist continue-ously slyly forward refreshes, forever white repainted with each perpetual glancing thought added this mother woke, sensing her make-male creation is a gender separate separation, a mystery needing learning, genes requiring a crisper adult education, a breast refilling is a sharing, eye to eye,   ****** to mouth, transferring a transformation, between a new meaningful, an analogy of understanding that swims in both directions, across a uniting natural division that unites,  better called an open boundary daughters are different but the insanity~same, a poem for another day a supernatural surprise that occurs daily, that you rightly appel it, as ancient  is correctly unsurprising for the knowledge is in every cell recorded, time immemorial apologies; my insufficient words can’t explain this dotted line division, only that, I too am a student driver mother, my son, a teacher,  a natural scholar, the understanding we shared is instantaneous and confusing, as we go back and forth together, travellers tween the dotted line spaces, absorbing his milky ways, informations that were not obviously ****** in me, or if they were, awaited this suckling’s coronation and education, invitation our differences are not a true division, but a new manner of best embracing which is why with good humor, our private joking, is that he is my very own  nap-ster master,^^ we are an ordered centrality^
0
Mar 31, 2019
Mar 31, 2019 at 9:48 AM UTC
call-me-by-my-other-name
The love betweenness a mother and her son
“The love betweenness^ a mother and her son” when it’s healthy strong and ancient, like this, is for me, and it seems, for you as well, almost a supernatural force in certain ways. I know many other women who understand this. It’s been probably the best surprise of my life.” Medusa sometime, a poem commission needs a quiet time rumination, a seventh inning time out to birth a perfect game, a mental stretch mark, did your know your commentation was a commandation, write me up, punch my ticket and jump back into murky waters, where a hu-man boy child only gifted me a tertiary imagination, comprehensive incomprehension this look upon differing and different, parenting parts of me, with the bright den mother’s sun gazing eyes of a new motherland, promotion to an incessant guardianship, an ordered mathematical centrality,^ a forever buck private’s uniform shoulder stripe pointing to mom maternal rhymes with eternal for children go off and go on about their lives, occasionally glancing backwards, but a mother’s eyes are an all encompassing, an all white canvass painting that the artist continue-ously slyly forward refreshes, forever white repainted with each perpetual glancing thought added this mother woke, sensing her make-male creation is a gender separate separation, a mystery needing learning, genes requiring a crisper adult education, a breast refilling is a sharing, eye to eye,   ****** to mouth, transferring a transformation, between a new meaningful, an analogy of understanding that swims in both directions, across a uniting natural division that unites,  better called an open boundary daughters are different but the insanity~same, a poem for another day a supernatural surprise that occurs daily, that you rightly appel it, as ancient  is correctly unsurprising for the knowledge is in every cell recorded, time immemorial apologies; my insufficient words can’t explain this dotted line division, only that, I too am a student driver mother, my son, a teacher,  a natural scholar, the understanding we shared is instantaneous and confusing, as we go back and forth together, travellers tween the dotted line spaces, absorbing his milky ways, informations that were not obviously ****** in me, or if they were, awaited this suckling’s coronation and education, invitation our differences are not a true division, but a new manner of best embracing which is why with good humor, our private joking, is that he is my very own  nap-ster master,^^ we are an ordered centrality^
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49
Passages on Fatherhood by Michael R. Burch for Jeremy Michael Burch He is my treasure, and by his happiness I measure my own worth. Four years old, with diamonds and gold bejeweled in his soul. His cherubic beauty is felicity to simplicity and passion— for a baseball thrown or an ice-cream cone or eggshell-blue skies. ... It’s hard to be “wise” when the years career through our lives and bees in their hives test faith and belief while Time, the great thief, with each falling leaf foreshadows grief. The wisdom of the ages and prophets and mages and doddering sages is useless unless it encompasses this: his kiss. Keywords/Tags: father, fatherhood, child, childhood, children, son, time, years, wisdom, kiss
0
Apr 6, 2020
Apr 6, 2020 at 3:36 AM UTC
michael-r-burch
Passages on Fatherhood
Passages on Fatherhood by Michael R. Burch for Jeremy Michael Burch He is my treasure, and by his happiness I measure my own worth. Four years old, with diamonds and gold bejeweled in his soul. His cherubic beauty is felicity to simplicity and passion— for a baseball thrown or an ice-cream cone or eggshell-blue skies. ... It’s hard to be “wise” when the years career through our lives and bees in their hives test faith and belief while Time, the great thief, with each falling leaf foreshadows grief. The wisdom of the ages and prophets and mages and doddering sages is useless unless it encompasses this: his kiss. Keywords/Tags: father, fatherhood, child, childhood, children, son, time, years, wisdom, kiss
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33
I'm a soldier in the nightlight revolution I'm fighting the nightmares that haunt your dreams The monsters in your closet And the Boogeyman under your bed One outlet at a time I'm a silent alarm that vibrates your covers When older brothers come in after bed time To cover your face in shaving cream Dip your hands in popcorn bowls of warm water Or just slap you in the face Sometimes they're not that subtle I know when there is a tooth under your bed Or reindeer on your roof I've got a motion detector to keep step fathers at bay While your mother's asleep I'm his grave digger and his crypt keeper Taking his skeletons out of the closet And laying them in the middle of the floor That man won't call on you anymore I'm a hug when all you need is a handshake And a hold-you-all-night when all you need is a kiss on the cheek I don't do half-ass When things go bump in the night I bump back Never fear to close both eyes when you sleep Dream of fairy tales, Prince Charming Dream of Maid Marions Waiting for your touch Don't fear the reaper he fears me I am a soldier in the nightlight revolution Armed with so much more than illumination I crawl through the cracks in the closet door Make their shadows cast pictures of rainbows on your wall The Boogey Man runs from Chuck Norris Chuck Norris runs from me Please rest easy Let the night take you for all it has to offer Through star lit skies and rain filled clouds on magic carpets rides Ocean floors and clown fish in little yellow submarines Rain forests with koalas and parrots and panda bears Son never fear for what the night brings near The nightlight revolution is here Throw your dream catcher away I will hand craft each one Take the lavender out of the window sill Don't leave the door cracked You've got me I'm here We're all here Soldiers of the nightlight revolution And we will not sleep til you're awake
0
Feb 24, 2010
Feb 24, 2010 at 2:17 PM UTC
michael-devoe
The Nightlight Revolution
I'm a soldier in the nightlight revolution I'm fighting the nightmares that haunt your dreams The monsters in your closet And the Boogeyman under your bed One outlet at a time I'm a silent alarm that vibrates your covers When older brothers come in after bed time To cover your face in shaving cream Dip your hands in popcorn bowls of warm water Or just slap you in the face Sometimes they're not that subtle I know when there is a tooth under your bed Or reindeer on your roof I've got a motion detector to keep step fathers at bay While your mother's asleep I'm his grave digger and his crypt keeper Taking his skeletons out of the closet And laying them in the middle of the floor That man won't call on you anymore I'm a hug when all you need is a handshake And a hold-you-all-night when all you need is a kiss on the cheek I don't do half-ass When things go bump in the night I bump back Never fear to close both eyes when you sleep Dream of fairy tales, Prince Charming Dream of Maid Marions Waiting for your touch Don't fear the reaper he fears me I am a soldier in the nightlight revolution Armed with so much more than illumination I crawl through the cracks in the closet door Make their shadows cast pictures of rainbows on your wall The Boogey Man runs from Chuck Norris Chuck Norris runs from me Please rest easy Let the night take you for all it has to offer Through star lit skies and rain filled clouds on magic carpets rides Ocean floors and clown fish in little yellow submarines Rain forests with koalas and parrots and panda bears Son never fear for what the night brings near The nightlight revolution is here Throw your dream catcher away I will hand craft each one Take the lavender out of the window sill Don't leave the door cracked You've got me I'm here We're all here Soldiers of the nightlight revolution And we will not sleep til you're awake
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49
You are invited to come to dine with me From now through all Eternity, Believe in the father, Son, and the Holy Ghost And dine with the Lord as your host To live in Heaven Eternally, All you must do is.?  R.S.V.P ~~ Kariinbba: Inspired by bible.
0
Jul 10, 2018
Jul 10, 2018 at 6:45 PM UTC
karijinbba
The invitation
You are invited to come to dine with me From now through all Eternity, Believe in the father, Son, and the Holy Ghost And dine with the Lord as your host To live in Heaven Eternally, All you must do is.?  R.S.V.P ~~ Kariinbba: Inspired by bible.
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10
I usually begin these rants with a question. But i find myself lacking in just this instance. For whom can say. Anything more When ash refuses to respond. No message can be relayed. Just more things that i silently promise. As i figuratively toast to a memory that will never do you justice. Is it disrespectful to take words so literal. To the point. That looking down gun barrels and beer bottles. Turned into a ****** routine that pride would boast. Only there was no smile in my smile. Inhaling disappointment. As the years of missed visits and substance abuse. Led me here. At your deathbed. wishing my words could reach beyond. Without worry of a certain spectres blade in my shadow. Then somehow. I made my word. The only thing worth asking about. Because allowing the past to weave around the last routine we shared. Would force everything that i have come to embody.   To null Et fin. But no. Your gift was ever changing. Trading a jack for skills. While masking scars that only those with them would know of. And in the darkest moments did i find a crystal. Clear. Resolve. To struggle onward. Tears wont spell the revisions we seek. and i was taught to always look my best, no matter the destination. Everything that i am. Came from you. It didn't come from a book nor a Professor. I can only hope to pass on your wisdom. Although cryptic at times. Will remain in my heart. So even though I will forever be thinking of a new metaphor. A penny will sit in my pocket. Until the day that I can place it in your palm.
0
Aug 22, 2018
Aug 22, 2018 at 5:25 AM UTC
spikeharper
Waste not
I usually begin these rants with a question. But i find myself lacking in just this instance. For whom can say. Anything more When ash refuses to respond. No message can be relayed. Just more things that i silently promise. As i figuratively toast to a memory that will never do you justice. Is it disrespectful to take words so literal. To the point. That looking down gun barrels and beer bottles. Turned into a ****** routine that pride would boast. Only there was no smile in my smile. Inhaling disappointment. As the years of missed visits and substance abuse. Led me here. At your deathbed. wishing my words could reach beyond. Without worry of a certain spectres blade in my shadow. Then somehow. I made my word. The only thing worth asking about. Because allowing the past to weave around the last routine we shared. Would force everything that i have come to embody.   To null Et fin. But no. Your gift was ever changing. Trading a jack for skills. While masking scars that only those with them would know of. And in the darkest moments did i find a crystal. Clear. Resolve. To struggle onward. Tears wont spell the revisions we seek. and i was taught to always look my best, no matter the destination. Everything that i am. Came from you. It didn't come from a book nor a Professor. I can only hope to pass on your wisdom. Although cryptic at times. Will remain in my heart. So even though I will forever be thinking of a new metaphor. A penny will sit in my pocket. Until the day that I can place it in your palm.
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45
MY SON To My Son My baby, my son, my precious prince Sent straight from Heaven and loved ever since A gift from God to handle with care A heart of gold for you to share A smile so big with such happiness and joy The pride I have, to have such a good little boy. Just one month away from turning two I hold my head high to be strong for you To love someone so much, I never knew I could The things I do for you, for no one else I would It feels so good to hold you, Just for a second though Because you scramble down fast and off you go I'm blessed to be with you every second of the day but I can’t be selfish, things just can’t go my way at sometimes I wish I could protect you from anyone hurting your golden little heart So many things I want to tell you but don’t know where to start People will tell you a lot of things son and only some of them will be true Which ones you want to believe my boy I hope you’re smart enough to choose It’s a mean world out there someone told me life is all about the fight So I’m going to do my best to make you strong my son So you can choose wrong from right I know it seems I’m going on and on but these things I just don’t want you to forget Life is full of lessons baby never hold any regrets. My baby, you are so truly exquisite, Blessed with a beauty quite infinite. I am so happy to have you, My love for you will never fade Of that I assure you. I promise to take care of you, I promise to guide you true, I promise to teach you right, I promise to raise you the best I can, I promise to guard you day and night. Grow and thrive, my little one, Always be good and full of loving, A special being like no one, Keep your smile sweet and giving. You will always be my baby dear My son, My heart will beat for you, strong and clear. You are my life, my everything I promise to cherish you till my last breath, To be always there, at any height or depth. I love you. You the reason behind my daily hustle.
0
Oct 2, 2017
Oct 2, 2017 at 3:09 PM UTC
thapz-kolatsoeu
MY SON
MY SON To My Son My baby, my son, my precious prince Sent straight from Heaven and loved ever since A gift from God to handle with care A heart of gold for you to share A smile so big with such happiness and joy The pride I have, to have such a good little boy. Just one month away from turning two I hold my head high to be strong for you To love someone so much, I never knew I could The things I do for you, for no one else I would It feels so good to hold you, Just for a second though Because you scramble down fast and off you go I'm blessed to be with you every second of the day but I can’t be selfish, things just can’t go my way at sometimes I wish I could protect you from anyone hurting your golden little heart So many things I want to tell you but don’t know where to start People will tell you a lot of things son and only some of them will be true Which ones you want to believe my boy I hope you’re smart enough to choose It’s a mean world out there someone told me life is all about the fight So I’m going to do my best to make you strong my son So you can choose wrong from right I know it seems I’m going on and on but these things I just don’t want you to forget Life is full of lessons baby never hold any regrets. My baby, you are so truly exquisite, Blessed with a beauty quite infinite. I am so happy to have you, My love for you will never fade Of that I assure you. I promise to take care of you, I promise to guide you true, I promise to teach you right, I promise to raise you the best I can, I promise to guard you day and night. Grow and thrive, my little one, Always be good and full of loving, A special being like no one, Keep your smile sweet and giving. You will always be my baby dear My son, My heart will beat for you, strong and clear. You are my life, my everything I promise to cherish you till my last breath, To be always there, at any height or depth. I love you. You the reason behind my daily hustle.
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59
Where are you going my little one... my precious son? Why are you taking my baby from me? Close my eyes and you're two... Close my eyes and you're four... Close my eyes and you're walking right out of the door. Where are you going my little one... my precious son? You just keep growing too quickly for me. Close my eyes and you're eight... Close my eyes and you're ten... Close my eyes and I just want to hold you again. Where are you going my little one... my precious son? You've no way of knowing how proud you make me. Close my eyes you're in school... Close my eyes and you're grown... Close my eyes and you're a father precious son of your own.
0
Mar 26, 2017
Mar 26, 2017 at 3:42 AM UTC
MeanAileen
Close My Eyes...
Where are you going my little one... my precious son? Why are you taking my baby from me? Close my eyes and you're two... Close my eyes and you're four... Close my eyes and you're walking right out of the door. Where are you going my little one... my precious son? You just keep growing too quickly for me. Close my eyes and you're eight... Close my eyes and you're ten... Close my eyes and I just want to hold you again. Where are you going my little one... my precious son? You've no way of knowing how proud you make me. Close my eyes you're in school... Close my eyes and you're grown... Close my eyes and you're a father precious son of your own.
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36
Thank you Dad for everything you have done, your hard work and sacrifice for everyone. Thanks for everything you continue to do, but most of all thank you just for being you. Thank you Dad for taking time to care, we really appreciate you always being there at those times when we feel we really need you; you never leave us wanting, always come through. Thank you Dad for being constantly strong, for being such a rock when things go wrong, for making time for us, for always listening, to the myriad of problems we constantly bring. Thank you Dad for calming our fears, for soothing words, for wiping our tears. Thank you for never letting us give up hope; for convincing us repeatedly we can cope. Thank you for your guidance as we move along, for teaching each one of us right from wrong, for encouraging us always to do the right thing, for the moral compass that guides our everyday living. Thanks for your calmness, your infinite patience, your common sense when faced with youthful exuberance! Thank you for providing us with everything we need for believing in us, giving us the tools to succeed. Thank you Dad for never giving up on me, for encouraging me to be all that I could be, for your forgiveness those times I was absolute brat, for your direction when I had no clue what I was at. Thank you from my heart for being such a great Dad, Thank you for the wonderful upbringing I had, Thank you mostly for teaching me what it means to be a Dad, If I am only half as good as you then my kids won’t do so bad.
0
May 2, 2015
May 2, 2015 at 4:55 AM UTC
damian-murphy
Thank You Dad!
Thank you Dad for everything you have done, your hard work and sacrifice for everyone. Thanks for everything you continue to do, but most of all thank you just for being you. Thank you Dad for taking time to care, we really appreciate you always being there at those times when we feel we really need you; you never leave us wanting, always come through. Thank you Dad for being constantly strong, for being such a rock when things go wrong, for making time for us, for always listening, to the myriad of problems we constantly bring. Thank you Dad for calming our fears, for soothing words, for wiping our tears. Thank you for never letting us give up hope; for convincing us repeatedly we can cope. Thank you for your guidance as we move along, for teaching each one of us right from wrong, for encouraging us always to do the right thing, for the moral compass that guides our everyday living. Thanks for your calmness, your infinite patience, your common sense when faced with youthful exuberance! Thank you for providing us with everything we need for believing in us, giving us the tools to succeed. Thank you Dad for never giving up on me, for encouraging me to be all that I could be, for your forgiveness those times I was absolute brat, for your direction when I had no clue what I was at. Thank you from my heart for being such a great Dad, Thank you for the wonderful upbringing I had, Thank you mostly for teaching me what it means to be a Dad, If I am only half as good as you then my kids won’t do so bad.
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32
Yellow rice maze spans white plates after Sunday dinner my mother made. Dad, Gee, and I just ate. Mom clears her throat. My belly, bloated and bulging, buzzes with dopamine. I feel great while the blue flame licks the white kettle behind her. Mom, whose plate skipped rice speckles, food skips and sticks in her throat. She wears a brown wool coat with only three buttons sewn in blue thread because she can still pinch needles with her irradiated thimbles. “You alright, Ma?” I ask twice because I watched her spit up rice she isn’t supposed to eat but cooks anyway. Maybe blue is her too, the kettle whistle. I think Mom misses Goya. I’m sorry, Mom.
0
May 17
May 17, 2026 at 12:16 AM UTC
TheLees
what sticks in her throat
Yellow rice maze spans white plates after Sunday dinner my mother made. Dad, Gee, and I just ate. Mom clears her throat. My belly, bloated and bulging, buzzes with dopamine. I feel great while the blue flame licks the white kettle behind her. Mom, whose plate skipped rice speckles, food skips and sticks in her throat. She wears a brown wool coat with only three buttons sewn in blue thread because she can still pinch needles with her irradiated thimbles. “You alright, Ma?” I ask twice because I watched her spit up rice she isn’t supposed to eat but cooks anyway. Maybe blue is her too, the kettle whistle. I think Mom misses Goya. I’m sorry, Mom.
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23
Sailor. Come back Its your boy's birthday today They brought you boxed in a coffin day before Was that the present he should've expected? Laced with garlands With a spread of the National Flag on top Sailor I know its been your dream To conquer unexplored lands Its been your fantasy To achieve heights beyond your reach But what about your boy He sleeps with the fighter plane clung to his heart You need to finish that for him I run my fingers over his carved name As if your hands were still at work Sailor Come back Not for me, not for your parents For him Him, who talks to your photograph every night and morn How do I explain to him What exactly do I say Sailor Its okay He saw your body He's been in shock He cannot shake the image off Of your cold hands and face And why you wouldn't come out He's died somewhere in his heart Its not okay but its okay I hope you understand I'll try my best to meet you Maybe in some other lifetime.
0
Jan 3, 2015
Jan 3, 2015 at 1:38 AM UTC
megha-balooni
Sailor.
Sailor. Come back Its your boy's birthday today They brought you boxed in a coffin day before Was that the present he should've expected? Laced with garlands With a spread of the National Flag on top Sailor I know its been your dream To conquer unexplored lands Its been your fantasy To achieve heights beyond your reach But what about your boy He sleeps with the fighter plane clung to his heart You need to finish that for him I run my fingers over his carved name As if your hands were still at work Sailor Come back Not for me, not for your parents For him Him, who talks to your photograph every night and morn How do I explain to him What exactly do I say Sailor Its okay He saw your body He's been in shock He cannot shake the image off Of your cold hands and face And why you wouldn't come out He's died somewhere in his heart Its not okay but its okay I hope you understand I'll try my best to meet you Maybe in some other lifetime.
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36
The news arrived Of the new arrival. We grant him All the Rights, Privileges, And Responsibilities Accorded to A son, brother, And grandson. May his endowment Of love and honour Stand him in good stead.
0
Apr 9, 2016
Apr 9, 2016 at 2:45 PM UTC
francie-lynch
Hear Ye, Hear Ye
The news arrived Of the new arrival. We grant him All the Rights, Privileges, And Responsibilities Accorded to A son, brother, And grandson. May his endowment Of love and honour Stand him in good stead.
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12
If I had to give my son advice, To, on his little life, shed light: I'd say don't do drugs, and if you do. Do Class C in the mornings, And Class A's at night. If you're gonna do it, do it right. If I had to give my son advice, To save his little heart from pain: I'd say never love at a distance; Your heart will succumb to a lonely bind. For words, are far too nervous, and probably won't get there on time. If I had to give my son advice, So his smile remains a genuine jewel, I'd say be sure to marry a writer. Smile as much as you possibly can, And if they feel it worth defending They will rewrite, and edit out your problems, And give you a happy ending.
0
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 4:30 AM UTC
shane-oltingir
Advice to my Son.
If I had to give my son advice, To, on his little life, shed light: I'd say don't do drugs, and if you do. Do Class C in the mornings, And Class A's at night. If you're gonna do it, do it right. If I had to give my son advice, To save his little heart from pain: I'd say never love at a distance; Your heart will succumb to a lonely bind. For words, are far too nervous, and probably won't get there on time. If I had to give my son advice, So his smile remains a genuine jewel, I'd say be sure to marry a writer. Smile as much as you possibly can, And if they feel it worth defending They will rewrite, and edit out your problems, And give you a happy ending.
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19
belongingness: what does this word mean? i would explain to my son that belongingness is something you can't touch but feel. eden, my daughter, would get a kiss. for many years i was looking for people i could belong to; i was on a quest. and this quest went along with fears and doubts. this quest was ******* the energy out of my mind and out of my soul... how did this quest began, though? on a strange day, i was asked a very intimate question by a professor; a professor whose background i'm aware of; she asked me: "do you have a religious or a political past?" her question came out of nowhere. she blindsided me. therefore, i wasn't prepared for an answer that could have satisfied her; regardless what my past really is about. at this point of my life i wasn't aware about my ancestors; but the professor's questions caused me to become it. "do you have a religious or a political past?" i do know about my past now; but the answer i gave this lady was not sufficient for her. by the end of our conversation she said: "i am sorry. can't shake your hand now. have to go toilet." that was it. oh my, was i disappointed and frustrated; because this certain lady would have opened many doors for me; doors for which she administrated the keys. you know, there are days in your life that want to you to be desperate. and yes: i was desperate. about being rejected. and that i wasn't able to have access to dorrs that lead to important conferences, meetings and to important people. but you know what? it doesn't matter anymore. because here, on hellopoetry, i have found a place of belogningness. and what my real past is will remain hid: a secret in a purple-colored casket i have the key to. hellopoetry is a place of belongingness. not just for me but for many many kind-hearted people. and i am not stating this from an opportunist's view: i can feel you guys here and sometimes i sense kindred spirits.
0
Dec 22, 2019
Dec 22, 2019 at 6:30 AM UTC
maxneumann
Belongingness. Belonging Less. Belonging.
belongingness: what does this word mean? i would explain to my son that belongingness is something you can't touch but feel. eden, my daughter, would get a kiss. for many years i was looking for people i could belong to; i was on a quest. and this quest went along with fears and doubts. this quest was ******* the energy out of my mind and out of my soul... how did this quest began, though? on a strange day, i was asked a very intimate question by a professor; a professor whose background i'm aware of; she asked me: "do you have a religious or a political past?" her question came out of nowhere. she blindsided me. therefore, i wasn't prepared for an answer that could have satisfied her; regardless what my past really is about. at this point of my life i wasn't aware about my ancestors; but the professor's questions caused me to become it. "do you have a religious or a political past?" i do know about my past now; but the answer i gave this lady was not sufficient for her. by the end of our conversation she said: "i am sorry. can't shake your hand now. have to go toilet." that was it. oh my, was i disappointed and frustrated; because this certain lady would have opened many doors for me; doors for which she administrated the keys. you know, there are days in your life that want to you to be desperate. and yes: i was desperate. about being rejected. and that i wasn't able to have access to dorrs that lead to important conferences, meetings and to important people. but you know what? it doesn't matter anymore. because here, on hellopoetry, i have found a place of belogningness. and what my real past is will remain hid: a secret in a purple-colored casket i have the key to. hellopoetry is a place of belongingness. not just for me but for many many kind-hearted people. and i am not stating this from an opportunist's view: i can feel you guys here and sometimes i sense kindred spirits.
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18
Fourteen long stormy years ago, Was a dark and gloomy night, A spidery women as far as we know, Was looking threw every house's window, She walked ever so delicately over the snow, Keeping herself out of sight, Not a part of her seemed to glow, All except her eyes that were anything but white. Not so far away, A newborn child lay, Sleeping ever so peacefully, Smiling ever so sweetly, How could this creature resist? The longing she had for that child, Was a feeling she could not dismiss. Forget the child's parents! He must be her new prince, Her next movements were completely errant, As the creature just lost control, She snatched the child up, Holding him like a pup, She fled to safety, Before the child awoke, The mysterious spider lady, Took him to her home, To raise him as her very own. Now present day, The child now given himself his own new name, A prince? That is not want he wants to be, He wishes to have his own word free, Tired of staring at blank walls, The child for the first time travels threw new halls, Leaving the place his once called home, Not knowing the new places he will roam, Not knowing the adventures he will have, Or the people he will share them with.
0
Feb 18, 2015
Feb 18, 2015 at 9:40 PM UTC
KittenQU
Stealing Her Prince
Fourteen long stormy years ago, Was a dark and gloomy night, A spidery women as far as we know, Was looking threw every house's window, She walked ever so delicately over the snow, Keeping herself out of sight, Not a part of her seemed to glow, All except her eyes that were anything but white. Not so far away, A newborn child lay, Sleeping ever so peacefully, Smiling ever so sweetly, How could this creature resist? The longing she had for that child, Was a feeling she could not dismiss. Forget the child's parents! He must be her new prince, Her next movements were completely errant, As the creature just lost control, She snatched the child up, Holding him like a pup, She fled to safety, Before the child awoke, The mysterious spider lady, Took him to her home, To raise him as her very own. Now present day, The child now given himself his own new name, A prince? That is not want he wants to be, He wishes to have his own word free, Tired of staring at blank walls, The child for the first time travels threw new halls, Leaving the place his once called home, Not knowing the new places he will roam, Not knowing the adventures he will have, Or the people he will share them with.
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36
I've been aware for many a year, but cut off by him, for crimes he accuses for crimes undisclosed, his silence is wider than the great oceans, with no means of passage. till one day a word, his brother uses a word that makes no pretense, that shocks, stuns, and force!admits me to a reality, I, knew but couldn't admit schizophrenic. here I am sundered speechless; as a new form of sadness now internally prevails, and I am even more quiet than usual, contemplative, they call it, but I recognize sad/mad in every one of its manifold disguises, and wonder just how much, own ingenious genes, the paucityof my impoverished down~ bringing brought, bought, caught, contributed to this loss, this onus, this cross that has no answer to the                                    ***only question that matters,                                      how much,                                      am I the guilty party                                                                          the disaster father***
0
Aug 22, 2025
Aug 22, 2025 at 4:11 PM UTC
left-foot
my son is ill (schizophrenic}
I've been aware for many a year, but cut off by him, for crimes he accuses for crimes undisclosed, his silence is wider than the great oceans, with no means of passage. till one day a word, his brother uses a word that makes no pretense, that shocks, stuns, and force!admits me to a reality, I, knew but couldn't admit schizophrenic. here I am sundered speechless; as a new form of sadness now internally prevails, and I am even more quiet than usual, contemplative, they call it, but I recognize sad/mad in every one of its manifold disguises, and wonder just how much, own ingenious genes, the paucityof my impoverished down~ bringing brought, bought, caught, contributed to this loss, this onus, this cross that has no answer to the                                    ***only question that matters,                                      how much,                                      am I the guilty party                                                                          the disaster father***
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32
****** does that to you... Phone rings, It's 1 a.m. Private number. I know what that means. "Hello" I say. His voice is shakey, He chokes out the words. "Mom, I just got arrested, I'm going to jail." I took a deep breath, Giving me time to think Of the right words to say. "Ok, I love you. Don't forget to tell them That your gonna be sick." ****** does that to you... "Mom, I should of listened to you. I'm sorry. Next time I will." How many next times, Thinking to myself. I can't count how many times he's been arrested, And sent to juvie or jail. We both knew this time it would be prison. ****** does that to you... "That's what you said last time. But you just keep running back to it. I know your sorry. No matter what, I will always love you. I am holding you right now baby boy." He cries even harder. "Mom I'm scared of getting sick. I really want a cigarette." 21 years old but he sounds like a 3 year old, With a high pitched whine. ****** does that to you... Last time I saw him he looked 35 And probably only weighed 110. Arms scarred with needle marks Infected sores throughout his body. Smelled of sweat and dumpsters Where he had been digging for food. I barely recognized him. Where had my son gone? He couldn't look me in the eye. ****** does that to you... L. Mack 6/17/18
0
Sep 20, 2018
Sep 20, 2018 at 5:22 PM UTC
kyotickix
****** does that to you...
****** does that to you... Phone rings, It's 1 a.m. Private number. I know what that means. "Hello" I say. His voice is shakey, He chokes out the words. "Mom, I just got arrested, I'm going to jail." I took a deep breath, Giving me time to think Of the right words to say. "Ok, I love you. Don't forget to tell them That your gonna be sick." ****** does that to you... "Mom, I should of listened to you. I'm sorry. Next time I will." How many next times, Thinking to myself. I can't count how many times he's been arrested, And sent to juvie or jail. We both knew this time it would be prison. ****** does that to you... "That's what you said last time. But you just keep running back to it. I know your sorry. No matter what, I will always love you. I am holding you right now baby boy." He cries even harder. "Mom I'm scared of getting sick. I really want a cigarette." 21 years old but he sounds like a 3 year old, With a high pitched whine. ****** does that to you... Last time I saw him he looked 35 And probably only weighed 110. Arms scarred with needle marks Infected sores throughout his body. Smelled of sweat and dumpsters Where he had been digging for food. I barely recognized him. Where had my son gone? He couldn't look me in the eye. ****** does that to you... L. Mack 6/17/18
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50
Puppet Master You crept in like a mischievious thief. Intrigued, decieved and retrieved my son. Influencing and destroying his beautiful life. Diminished his hopes, his dreams and his self-esteem. Convincing him he had no future, No love, no value was to his life. Your wicked silk spun web of deadly lies, Mislead him to believe, That happiness and love cease to exist. This is your fuel, This your fire. Your one and only desire. You will not quit until they all expire. ****** black, H or tar, You are a seductive liar. Your needle point claws buried deep his arm, Dripping with your poisonous conceit. Now you are his puppet master. Dominating his mind, his thoughts and his words. Your malicious acts preformed through him, Make him look wild, insane and disturbed. Each day in your tight intense grip, My son dwindled and shriveled away. Becoming your molded and trained apprentice. Coached to perfection in your twisted ways. You are as bad as a ****** A murderer and even more. I hate you ****** You started a war. I will not let you win! Let go of my loved and cherished son. Let him live a full and beautiful life. I surrender to you myself. Volunteer my own life. Take me instead, Be my puppet master, Enslave me, And let my baby live. L. Mack 9/20/18
0
Sep 21, 2018
Sep 21, 2018 at 12:41 AM UTC
kyotickix
Puppet Master
Puppet Master You crept in like a mischievious thief. Intrigued, decieved and retrieved my son. Influencing and destroying his beautiful life. Diminished his hopes, his dreams and his self-esteem. Convincing him he had no future, No love, no value was to his life. Your wicked silk spun web of deadly lies, Mislead him to believe, That happiness and love cease to exist. This is your fuel, This your fire. Your one and only desire. You will not quit until they all expire. ****** black, H or tar, You are a seductive liar. Your needle point claws buried deep his arm, Dripping with your poisonous conceit. Now you are his puppet master. Dominating his mind, his thoughts and his words. Your malicious acts preformed through him, Make him look wild, insane and disturbed. Each day in your tight intense grip, My son dwindled and shriveled away. Becoming your molded and trained apprentice. Coached to perfection in your twisted ways. You are as bad as a ****** A murderer and even more. I hate you ****** You started a war. I will not let you win! Let go of my loved and cherished son. Let him live a full and beautiful life. I surrender to you myself. Volunteer my own life. Take me instead, Be my puppet master, Enslave me, And let my baby live. L. Mack 9/20/18
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41
Go grab your wetsuit your sunblock and wax go get a clean towel put them all in your pack I'll watch as the sun beams from your face and feel the breeze stirred by your running flip-flopped feet I'll laugh as you shout "YES" and fistpump the air This is us. Our thing. We. Surfs up li'l dude!
0
May 26, 2014
May 26, 2014 at 11:43 AM UTC
ryan-jakes
surfs up li'l dude
Go grab your wetsuit your sunblock and wax go get a clean towel put them all in your pack I'll watch as the sun beams from your face and feel the breeze stirred by your running flip-flopped feet I'll laugh as you shout "YES" and fistpump the air This is us. Our thing. We. Surfs up li'l dude!
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11