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M Vogel Sep 2019
--it is,  how very
tremendously cute you are,
and how your little stinkerlings
climb all over me;  their
trusting little Spirits drinking in all things, Daddy

And within you, dwells  all of the
fullness of their childlike hope, ******
And within them dwells hope's fire--
aflame within each little set of eye's
sparkle

Yet, beautiful Mommy--

There is a brutality, embedded deeply into
God's Love
that all but compels me to call you out
on almost seemingly-random things:
things that push up (almost fiercely)
against all things within you, stubborn
but they benefit..

                       they benefit.

And you fight against me-- even to your own detriment,
and I am reminded  then of the same fight shown--  emanating
from a young,  forming child's spirit:


           "No"   is the first word that should
                                          form freely
            within the mouth of a young spirit,
                                    aching deeply...

           within the depths  of the loved self
           for the true meaning of the word,  

                                           Autonomy.

An­d there is no loss  of love
in their little movements  towards separateness

And there is no price to pay for speaking the truth in love
nor, is there a payment owed, for speaking it  in defiance
and separateness, even to the point of  eventual separation
need never have to come at the cost of love--

the truly-loved, freely formed, self
is a beautiful, magical thing to behold, indeed.


And your participation in to it all, little-one's sweet Mommy

is a celebration in itself.

those cute little yapperlies,  
from a deeply-loved place- within their mommy's heart
are teaching me how to live  again.
M Vogel Sep 2019

Onto a crumpled, weathered parchment
he bleeds out  his love for her

And she,  in turn
finds words,  that wax poetic

Flowery words.  pretty words

Words that rhyme,
quarter tones of time

Flowers, hearts, peer-laden smiles
lined up-- all, in a pretty little line

There is a spattered blood,
on tattered parchment,   still

and, still..  no less mine


I'm holding out my only candle
though it's so little light to find my way
Now this story's been laid beneath my candle
and it's shorter every hour
as it reaches for the day
Yes, I feel just like a candle in a way

I hope I'll get there,
but I'll never pray
~J. Browne

years pass.. and I am beginning to age

— The End —