"endeavored" poems
Day in, day out on the mind
All comes down to competition
Result of years of preparation.
In those seconds of restlessness
When the body can take no more
Dream of a medal reassure.
Will to succeed is eminent
Breathes through each atom and cell
To have what only a champion can smell.
In the spirit of sportsmanship
Fair play is to be endeavored
The performance to be savored.
Now is everything you pursued
Aspiring in the end
To proudly sing the national anthem.
A steep climb to that podium
Be the best that you can be
And have what only a winner can see.
Jul 31, 2012
Jul 31, 2012 at 7:35 AM UTC
lost sanity as though your head was severed
especially after you oh so endeavored
to keep it all to yourself; in your mind
maybe now, my dear, you will find
that secrets
are not welcome here
Jul 28, 2014
Jul 28, 2014 at 11:06 PM UTC
The woman who endeavored endlessly
The woman who were adored by many
The woman who went to church
And worshiped for a soul search
The woman who bore children
And raised them with remarkable patience
The woman who went through countless obstacles
And made it through with endurance
The woman who were proud to have heard
That her daughter had bore her a granddaughter
The woman who cried
Happiness and joy
The woman who stayed with her granddaughter
To accompany her during her piano practices
Regardless of her fatigue
And her aging looks
The woman who put up with her granddaughter's annoyance
The woman who was there when nobody could be a solution
The woman who would rather be hurt
Than seeing her granddaughter cry in tranfusion
The woman stayed with her granddaughter
Through thick and thin
The woman who feared
That her granddaughter could grow up too fast
The woman who had to let go
The woman who had to see her daughter leave the country
The woman who had think about her everyday
And miss her presence in the comfort of her own home
The woman who used to seeing her countless days
Had to live with loneliness
Even with the comfort of her family
The presence of her daughter is irreplaceable
But the woman waited
Until it was too late
Her last words were "Can you hear me?"
And she slept in peaceful fate
Oct 20, 2013
Oct 20, 2013 at 1:28 PM UTC
She stumbled across the streets,
with low light streams.
Casting a glimpse to the rustling leaves,
fearing a soul's hail,
for 'twould free her long-harbored wail.
Her white shroud floating back like a spectre unleashed,
her feeble hands holding tight to the shovel in need;
on she went digging, with all her strength beaming,
waiting not for a second to breathe.
A ditch no less than a bottomless pit,
was what she endeavored to achieve in the late night sleep
to abandon her setback grief.
Jun 25, 2016
Jun 25, 2016 at 9:35 PM UTC
You began as a dream
Dreamt by leaders with vision
Evolving to surpass
All of man's wildest ambition...
With adventurous men
Like Shepherd and Glenn
You stubbornly strove
To prove, once again
Beyond any doubt
That bounderies could be broken...
Despite mishap and fire
Alas, you did inspire
A generation to dream...
From Mercury to Apollo
The world, it did follow
Your steady pace
To Tranquility Base...
Via Viking and Voyager
Your efforts did prove
That exploration of the universe
Was well on the move...
To Mars, Jupiter, Saturn and Neptune...
You tenaciously endeavored
To, your accomplishments, festoon...
Your progress was sure
As you strove to endure
The incessent chatter
Of the grossly short-sighted
Their nonsense did clatter
Proving they were poorly enlightened...
With untold discoveries
Like non-stick surfaces and airtight seals
Through your numerous breakthroughs
You've shown us how it feels
To live better...
From Columbia to Hubbel
You've saved us great trouble
In our daily lives...
With your Space Station mission
You've shown the same vision
And, continue to lead in gaining cognition
Of our universe...
Lead on, great adventurers
Lead on.
Nov 1, 2010
Nov 1, 2010 at 6:35 PM UTC
Mental pollution hides the solutions
We imprison each other and create institutions
Really?
You think that is the answer?
You are probably wondering why there is no cure for cancer
We are stuck...and the situation *****
Political systems will always become corrupt
How many times do we have to see it in history?
Failing over and over again there is no mystery
I'm sorry if I get you riled up
This is for the thirsty go and grab your cup
How will we do it?
Where do we start?
I'm an instigator I've done my part..
TOGETHER
Our bonds can't be severed
It is a journey which will long be endeavored
Can you feel it?
It has just begun,
The roads have opened up go ahead choose one
I take them all
Cause I know my destination
Which is why I push and poke at every Nation
For now...
That is my time..
I will be back..
I hope my message stays in your mind
No limit to as high as we can climb
Can you feel it?
Let it begin
Answers to our questions lie deep within....
Jul 9, 2013
Jul 9, 2013 at 2:04 AM UTC
You can now rise upon the backs of the dead!
The eyes of the suffering are goggles
Red and shining through the fog
Their backs are broken by wooden poles
Their chests are ripped by bullet holes
The eyes of the suffering are needles
Green and glowing in the water
Their back-bones are laced with poison
Their lives were met with a choice end
The eye of the suffering is a flashlight
White and beaming in the libraries
Their chests protruding MP5’s
They drag their blood for all their lives
The eyes of the suffering are missing
The brain is all that remains
Their backs carry all kinds of firearms
Their legs are 8, littered with scars
The eyes of the suffering are dog’s
The face is that of a corpse
Their stomachs are full from the slaves
Their home is upon the graves
The eyes of the suffering are burning
Their bodies are attached by the hip
They throw their fire through the halls
They stand six feet four inches tall
The head of the suffering is severed
From all the torture it’s endeavored
It’s arms are blades of rusted steel
They’ve no more love to feel
The eyes of the suffering are starving
Their teeth are seven inch nails
Their jaws are gnashing and skin peels
Their arms are stretched for a meal
The King of The Suffering is The Worm.
His Hate fuels The Suffering on His terms.
He runs through The City of Dead Dreams.
He towers above the tallest buildings.
Aug 10, 2010
Aug 10, 2010 at 11:40 AM UTC
She was left with a broken heart,
It didn't matter what she believed,
The temptation of suicide ripped her apart,
She felt as if it were a relief
The sadness in her eyes,
The guilt through her bones,
Gloomy gray skies
Where aqua once had shown
Her life was depressing,
Just like a flimsy blade,
It is easy to break,
But can still leave you in pain
All the pain that she endeavored,
All the insanity she would take,
Enough to leave her severed,
As if she would break
Where the blade had shined,
Now she was dull,
Where the stars once aligned,
Now very dismal
Feb 4, 2014
Feb 4, 2014 at 5:49 PM UTC
I've been thinking lately
That not everything is correctly
Thought over or treasured
Stuck in the endeavored
Nine to five schedule
That most claim is the devil
And can't seem to think
That there's more than ink
On a paycheck
Or a car wreck
We convince ourselves
To put feelings on shelves
And disregard all
That don't fall
Right into place
Right in our face
And keep us from working
Or keep us lurking
Around for a better us
Longer than we fuss
Or believe we must
Stuck in our lust
From clubs and dancing
To money and prancing
Pretending we're better
Than those who write a letter
Out of hopes to reach someone
And get help for what we've done
I hope we wake up
And fill our cup
With hope and happiness
With fun and a happy dance
Rather than judgement
And being hellbent
On being hateful
Be joyful
And live.
Sep 18, 2013
Sep 18, 2013 at 9:34 PM UTC
Reflections on the Loss of Vision
by Michael R. Burch
The sparrow that cries from the shelter of an ancient oak tree and the squirrels
that dash in delight through the treetops as the first snow glistens and swirls,
remind me so much of my childhood and how the world seemed to me then,
that it seems if I tried
and just closed my eyes,
I could once again be nine or ten.
The rabbits that hide in the bushes where the snowflakes collect as they fall,
hunch there, I know, in the concealing snow, yet now I can't see them at all.
For time slowly weakened my vision; while the patterns seem almost as clear,
some things that I saw
when I was a boy,
are lost to me now in my advancing years.
The chipmunk who seeks out his burrow and the geese now preparing to leave
are there as they were, and yet they are not; and though it seems childish to grieve,
who would condemn a blind man for bemoaning the vision he lost?
Well, in a small way,
through the passage of days,
I have learned some of his loss.
For, as a young boy I endeavored to see things most adults could not—
the camouflaged nests of the hoot owls, the woodpecker’s favorite spots.
But now I no longer can find them, nor understand how I once could,
and it seems such a waste
of those far-sighted days,
to end up near blind in this wood.
Keywords/Tags: reflections, loss, vision, childhood, eyesight, perceptiveness, acuity, age, aging, cataracts, blindness, days, years, decades, near-sighted, far-sighted
What the Poet Sees
by Michael R. Burch
What the poet sees,
he sees as a swimmer
~~~underwater~~~
watching the shoreline blur
sees through his breath’s weightless bubbles ...
Both worlds grow obscure.
Published by ByLine, Mandrake Poetry Review, Poetically Speaking, E Mobius Pi, Underground Poets, Little Brown Poetry, Little Brown Poetry, Triplopia, Poetic Ponderings, Poem Kingdom, PW Review, Neovictorian/Cochlea, Muse Apprentice Guild, Mindful of Poetry, Poetry on Demand, Poet’s Haven, Famous Poets and Poems, and Bewildering Stories
Apr 12, 2020
Apr 12, 2020 at 12:59 AM UTC
Sparrow and Cage
In this world so cold a quiet voice is harshly faint;
a blissful soul is screaming in rage,
dying painfully like a bird locked in his cage.
Rusty bars through air we see,
crack open the cage inside what’s left of him you see,
beating cold between his wings, feathers...lovely feathers of what he used to be,
raging down the sparrow of his cry,
out of his nest when will he die?
Frightened and scared,
he is fully bewared,
Free at last!
Free alas!
Time has come; time has passed,
**** the beast, **** him fast
beating crimson through his heart at last.
The head of a bull the body of a man,
slay him down do what you can!
Solitary confinement refinement,
village of cowards you don’t know what dying meant,
a respectable man and his son quickly sent,
Deep down into the depths of walls,
Imprisoned forever,
they will rise to fall.
Icarus and Daedlus escape fast,
feathers of wax, candles flaming free;
Icarus his son was lost at sea.
**** this village burn down the towers,
this king beheaded destroy their power!
Sentence of death lurking closer,
he feels the electric coarse through his veins,
a thousand memories blistering his pains,
a yearning sparrow wanting outside his cage,
die down my bird and rest your rage,
the afterlife is your new endeavored page.
Haunt this prison through the shadows you deceive,
find your calling and heaven you shall receive.
-Tammy Cusick
Feb 28, 2013
Feb 28, 2013 at 2:01 AM UTC
Your face shows thee an illusion of the happiness long sought by tears
of retribution. A elusive traveller of contentment lost. That prominent
illustrator of false satisfaction and materialism. Proprietor of everything
yet possessor of nought.
Envied forever, pursued by the blindness of the ravenous follower. Yet
not for such trivialities as love or companionship. That one jewel that you
have always required, hunted for over a lifetime, yet never owned. Instead
they sprawl at your Midas touch.
You repulse now, exiled by your own commitment to fortune and
eminence. Words of greed and fortune once uttered became truth, your
own prayers answered and for this you now recoil. Ashamed at your own
self-indulgence and gluttony.
You have seen love, felt its breath. Wondered at its divine beauty, yet only
through imagination and dreams can you ever lay your hands upon it. Only
through delusion do you experience the exquisiteness of touch that lover
and love maker shall ever feel.
You have endeavored to grasp its finery, strived to gain such knowledge.
You have precious trophies, love laboured perfect sculptures of the
untouchable efforts you have made. Entire fortunes of love surround you,
mementos, untouchable memorials of your heart.
A lifetime as pursuer yet never as owner. You have everything yet nothing.
Your only certainty lurks around you, silently waiting for its payment, its
shadow almost upon you. It has followed you for millennia with hands only
now making grasp.
As you await your demise, wrapped in cloaks of golden flake and covered
in sheets of ingot, it appears to you. This long shadow calls to you, clad in
robes of blackened textile, awaiting its prize. So you breathe your last breath
as death exacts its toll.
Aug 23, 2014
Aug 23, 2014 at 7:55 PM UTC
This sadness was our burden to carry,
Brother of mine,
Our burden to carry,
Throughout our lives.
Yet you have broken your shackles,
Brother of mine, have finally flown free,
And I am left questioning,
Hoping you will never forget me.
I cried back then, when turmoil unfolded,
And you comforted me with a soothing voice.
Now you have left this place,
And I don't blame you for that choice.
Please, all I am asking of you,
My dear brother,
Do not forget that little boy,
Who feared his mother.
I remain in the rubble of our past,
Please think of me even as you are free.
Back in those cloudy days,
You endeavored to help me see.
I am endlessly grateful.
Do not forget me, brother of mine,
For I might carry this burden,
For all of time.
May 10, 2016
May 10, 2016 at 12:15 AM UTC
fingers trace
the trails on my skin
your hands used to make,
used to take
ghosts of touches
nostalgias of caresses
hands driven by despair
have endeavored to redress
a body,
self intrinsic body
yet every inch screams you
made of nothing but all taints of you
Jun 7, 2016
Jun 7, 2016 at 11:48 AM UTC
I haven’t seen You
since the second grade
when I changed my name.
when You lost me,
and things changed.
I started to wonder if I’d ever see You.
but You were too far gone.
You weren’t my father anymore,
You were just the man that made me possible.
however, I was just as manic as You,
just as addicted.
You left what You could in my DNA
but I cycled down my own path
and fell hard without guidance.
tripped upon things that only
the silence of the night can recollect.
alone in my third story bedroom,
I saw the world before me
each endeavored existence.
felt the night breathe its cool breath
into the slumber of my visions.
You and I were the same then.
there was not a shred of difference
I grew as a monster does by its own devices.
fueled by diseases I couldn’t even name
and though I had not seen You
nor heard your voice in the last eight years
I was the same as You. We were the same.
May 13, 2011
May 13, 2011 at 8:43 AM UTC
I can't stop my poetry flow
It's getting out of control
I love it..Need it!
My soul is completed
All negativity within has long been defeated
What has been created is a Poetry Beast
Hunting down words for this poetry feast
Feel my fire
Born from desire
I feel I can build or destroy any empire
All in the mind
Answers we thought we could not find
Keys to stop suffering cure ills of mankind
Through our intelligence
Let us signify our relevance
Our existence means something we must regain our elegance
I realize some people will never understand
Minds open up like fingers of a hand
I'll do it
Give it my best try
Even if it means I have to die
Build off legacies left behind
Martin Luther King Jr's plight should be in everyone's mind
He had dream the advancement of all
Through Peace and Intelligence
Not building new walls
Battles begin as old ones end
It all comes down to the message we send
Mental pollution hides the solutions
We imprison each other create institutions
Really?
You think that is the answer?
Hmm wonder why there is no cure for cancer
We are stuck..too many situations ****
Political systems always become corrupt
How many times do we have to see it in history?
Repeatedly failing there is no mystery
I apologize if you get riled up
This is for the thirsty go grab your cup
How will we do it?
Where do we start?
As an instigator I've done my part..
TOGETHER
Bonds can't be severed
We have begun a journey long to be endeavored
Can you feel it?
It has begun
Roads open up go ahead choose one
I take them all
I know my destination
Push and poke at every nation
For now...
That is my time..
I'll be back..
Hope message stays in your mind
No limit how high we can climb
Let us do it
Let it begin
Answer to life's questions lie deep within.
Jul 4, 2013
Jul 4, 2013 at 11:53 AM UTC
Like a delightful blink at a lemon's ****
Taste, the intimate trust in another's heart
Beat discards reason for rhyme & certainty
For a gamble of losing it all for romance's
Sweet sake. As life requires us to accept both
The shadows and the light, so we take an oath
To not burden ourselves with what they deem to be "wrong,"
But for us feels quite right. And right now our future looks
Brilliant. Together, forever endeavored, like a fable book's
Tale, we have faced full frontal our biggest fears
And run full force toward impossible dreams
Because we still wipe away the other's sweat and tears
And we will always for as long as you'll have me
Beside you, playing on the same team.
Oct 11, 2014
Oct 11, 2014 at 12:15 PM UTC
Since those long ago days in Latin class,
I have endeavored to speak your echo, Crystal.
How I longed to be amongst your trusted inner circle!
Alas, I had no voice then to speak these things to you.
Mrs. Tinkler must have sensed my blocked emotions;
always coupled we two to do textual translations.
I deferred and let you be the intellectual leader
feeling wholly given over to being your infatuated scribe.
It was always your property to be simpatico;
you were the giver of kindness and smiles,
your latent brilliance subsumed by outward caring.
What forlorn chance did my jejune heart have?
And now, at length, I can finally speak these things,
trusting in the smiles that touching substance brings.
Oct 7, 2015
Oct 7, 2015 at 1:40 PM UTC
It's odd to think of how much time I spend working out a mental fallacy or problem in my head or on paper and then it's just gone. It's like a rhetorical analysis and my life is a story.
Today i was struggling a tad about spending this weekend at my boyfriend's and him not spending too much time with me. But immediately afterward, I summed that yes, he's happy to see me, but I was the one who asked to visit and he already had plans of things to do. So Though he appreciated my company, he has others things to do and enjoy as well.
This is not OUR weekend or holiday. I am just participating in it.
It was like this welling emotion of hurt suddenly was alleviated, knowing that it was not about shirking me; it was about getting things he had already endeavored to do done.
Thinking gets me to many better places than places I previously was before.
I solve a lot of my own problems staring at a screen and typing them out, or just staring and thinking in general. It gets me through issues that don't need to be issues. Its just my chemical imbalances ramping up small emotions that need not be catastrophic, but can sometimes turn to be.
Similarly, I've solved why I'm an extrovert writer. My only friends were people in stories, and though I adore human energy and potential, real human beings do not compare to the neatness and logic of story characters. They can both feel as real, but real people can change on a dime, or be growthless, or waste their time and learn nothing.
In a story we'd call that unrealistic.
So I'm content being around people, feeding off their glorious energy, but also fine not being too interactive at all times. I can hear voices in movies, I can meet people in stories. I can suffice on the people between pages, and also the people out of pages who feel strong and real and connective to me.
Thinking and reflecting is one of my strongest traits. Telling my therapist about this trait was one of the first times I realized my possible brilliance. I told her I reflect and work out problems with myself, as it was the only way I figured out how to live when things were worst, and she was stunned. She says that trait, one used to often, can sometimes be attributed to genius.
Understandably, I was also stunned.
Reflecting on reflecting even feels rejuvenating. I am so proud of this skill, the skill that kept me alive and now is helping me learn to be self-sufficient. The growth is exponential. The usability is astounding.
I feel so lucky to be able to have it.
Nov 26, 2016
Nov 26, 2016 at 3:20 PM UTC
To be inspired to create-
And per chance to inspire others-
Is either a grueling task
Where one must whip their own mind into motion
Like a stubborn mule
Or else it strikes as lightning
That can only be cast by the gods
And when it strikes it is exhilarating,
All-consuming and the epitome of creation;
Inspiration that is spontaneous,
An unfaithful geyser of sudden epiphany,
Often produces the shortest yet strongest results,
The being blessed by it cast into a conscious sleep
Where all thought and movement are otherworldly;
These works of divine intervention are
The cornerstones of human art so rare and lucky to have
As there is moderation in art as there is moderation in
All things, including moderation and inspiration:
On the other plate of the scales of Lady Justice
Is inspiration that has been dredged up from the ground;
It is liquid gold, crude; it does not shine
And it requires energy to obtain the very power we seek,
The subject work is clawed at until it is laid bare
Then robed and disrobed over and over again
Until the creator finds a fitting garment
And in this process the creator discovers a loving hate
Over the object which they have put such effort into,
That is still not nearly as fine as the works of sudden art,
Yet it is the Apple of their Eye nonetheless….
Once obtained, forced inspiration can be
More inspiring than that of the spontaneous inspirations;
A creator who has endeavored to struggle with inspiration
Is someone who can lead by example-
Where not everyone will be favored by the gods
And be given sudden wisdom and thought-
Anyone can ponder for hours on end
Until the train strikes them and the coal engines'
Fire is stoked to peak capacity by tedious effort;
Those who drive hard have opened minds and
Are more motivated than those who already have
A single goal to achieve: After divine inspiration
Has been carried out, what more is there for the
Creator to do if the gods do not
Favor them again?
In such ways do inspiration flow,
Quick and strong as lightning, here then gone,
Or steady as a slow stream, a lasting current
Which results in a slowly built and driven creation:
For those who are blessed with instant inspiration
Congratulations! Enjoy it while it lasts!
And for those who work beyond countless hours-
Congratulations to you, as well, for your dedication
And willpower so inspirational.
Jan 30, 2017
Jan 30, 2017 at 4:48 PM UTC
*i looked up
and placed
my fingertips to the top
of my bedroom ceiling
and i looked at the fluorescent stars
and moons
and constellations
and planets
stuck to the white paint,
and i ran my fingers over each
one and i thought that this was the
closest i would get to touching heaven.
i have learned that we are more than our scars
and more than we give ourselves credit for.
we are so much more than the galaxies running through our veins
and we are so much more than the sum of our bodies put together
with the lover's sharing our beds at three in the morning
because we shouldn't have to rely on other people for us
to be happy and feel complete.
we don't need other people to tell us we are beautiful because
you were beautiful even before he said you were.
you were more lovely than she said you were before she left you in the dust.
you don't need someone to tell you the things that are already true
and if you can't see that you are hauntingly fantastic then you need
to get a better nirror
look a little closer
because there is something in you that is keeping you alive even
when you want nothing more than to be dead.
you need to look closer at yourself and place your hands
on your face;
feel the skin that keeps you together even when you want to tear it open;
look at the arms that have scars engraved on the surface but also
are capable of holding other people up when they are upset.
look at those arms- your arms;
look at the way they sway and the way they hold people together when they
are falling apart at the seams.
look at your legs;
look at how they hold you up each morning,
look at how they chase the moon
and the way they continue to let you get to the places you need to be.
look at your hands;
look at how they curve and how they fold into each other.
look at how they hold people's hands and look at how they grasp the strands of
your hair as you messily finger-brush the knots out of your bedhead.
look at your eyes;
look at those **** eyes and notice how the color captures the world,
look at how much they have seen,
how much they have yet to see.
look at the beauty in you, little one.
look- just look at how far you have come.
look at your progress-
you may not feel like you have gotten any better but yes you have;
it is another day you are alive and i could not be any more
proud of you than i am right now.
you are not a temple;
you are a ********* forest.
people may have chopped you down and you may have
imprints on your surface,
but you are enchanting.
you are not monochromatic,
you are flourishing with colors of the rainbow
and you change each day.
you are unknown,
yet so many wish to venture into your soul,
but you close up at the chance of something new.
my love,
you must open your eyes if you wish to start over.
i know you see the pieces of yourself missing
but look at how the light will fill up the cracks if you just let it in.
your soul will not disappear if you simply let the light in.
open your eyes and let the colors fill your black and white world.
you are a forest,
and you are the most beautiful forest i have ever
endeavored.
people will not love you more
if there is less of
you.*
//
{m.j}
Nov 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2014 at 2:37 PM UTC
I found the best piece of me
Alone, Shivering in the dark
(Three centimeters tall)
Hunched over, on all fours
Eating it's heart...
It's face was vacant
With dead eyes that flared like sparks
A silent tongue, so blatant
(I'll hear your confessions)
Body, skin and bones, covered in scars
It seemed somewhat impatient
For I just stood there in awe
Inept and perplexed
I stumble over, kneel down
And surrender, to it's impious words
(I forgive you)
Who will slay this thing?
Who will play the butcher?
And end my suffering?
(No)
You will not feast on me today
I will not be your backwards slave
(I won't, I won't)
This is not a threat
For I, I ****** the minds of the masses with the fingers of liberty
I've screamed for all the women I've never been but hoped I would be
I can't change, I can not change
Oh, how I've tried a million times
How I've endeavored to rise above my
Imperfections
Struggling, twisting myself within the vine
Of rejections
I'm not perfect, I'm not a beauty queen
I'm just me...I'm just me...
I'm proud of who I am
I am proud of me
I Just want someone who understands
( We're all prisoners here)
I just want someone who will listen
(All shapes and sizes)
To witness these dull eyes of mine glisten
(Forever chasing the sun)
To hear what I have to say
To tell me it's okay
To cry...
(If god is my father then I am an orphan)
I am afraid
To show my true feelings
(I can hear you judging me)
They're laughing at me
They wont go away
My reflection staring back
Like shattered pieces.
Dec 25, 2014
Dec 25, 2014 at 3:06 PM UTC
I want you to love me
like you loved me when we met.
After time and experience what's love
but a nebulous concept? I'm all yours.
Clutch my searing sparkle, while it's yours,
like your ardor is too voracious to contest.
I'm all yours. I want you to love me
as the moment's past, like you've
endeavored to make the moment last.
Had I ever adored
another sacred satellite
more, I would have left
but I'm permanently
pulsing in narcosis on the floor,
dead devoted, waiting for the wanton
conflagration to return.
Jun 15, 2017
Jun 15, 2017 at 9:05 PM UTC
Who would contradict the affection of a mother?
She who endeavored to bestow us the breath of existence;
Intensely compassionate in personality they are.
Secures us and therefore forms our defense.
Who else can obtain and sustain the duty of a sister?
She who happens to be our emotional support;
Sensible in intellect and gentle in action they are.
Guides us and therefore on no account lets us abort.
Who would constantly be dependable like a wife?
She who makes it crucial to fulfill our needs at any rate;
Gorgeous in qualities and remains beside us for our entire life,
Idolizes us and therefore desires us to be her soul mate.
Who else can be more valuable than a daughter?
She who sacrifices for the advantages of her family;
Garnished with essence of motherliness and heals our scar.
They are overflowing with responsibilities to an extreme degree.
Women stay as the most significant person in our life and soul,
And build an effort to facilitate us to accomplish our goal.
Sep 5, 2017
Sep 5, 2017 at 1:07 AM UTC