Evasion

Mum

I had a dream,

In black and white.

Where the sky was a foggy grey

And no soul was left in sight

It was an apocalyptic view

Of a town drenched in dust

Particles which once made up homes

Then made up rust

I was a foreigner, In this dream

But not foreign to such sorrow

As I knew destruction revolves around chaos,

However, peace oft settles in what is hollow

I walked those monotone streets,

Observed each hue enchanted,

As if in each step I took

I looked I discovered a new colour

I found such beauty in what had been broken...

Usually tells a gripping story

I spoke to you of this dream,

Read it aloud from my journal.

Sat on your bedroom floor, nervous,

As you organised your day in royal purple 

I was scared you would find me gloomy. Admittedly

And not accept my infatuation with themes of such vein.

But you see, dear mother, that day I found another self

A better self, I must proclaim

You praised me for my choice of words,

Asked me to read whatever I wanted to write.

Cheered me on through the most peculiar endeavours.

Held my hand platonically as I jumped in fright

You waited without a view,

Without assurance I would emerge from those waters

But I knew I had to swim them

And you knew I am a do-er, not a thinker

I came out shivering cold, holding a magic pen.

My mind shifted stronger.

And you welcomed me in the end...

We may not always be in agreement,

Or understand what is best, most of the time.

But you have always stood there ready

To give us another try

You may not have my same way with words, animals, art or clothes,

Withal you are insatiable in love

Taught me what it means to care and devote

You are stronger for letting go of me on to journey

Even when I forbade you to travel with

It takes strength to trust another

Especially one bound to swim adrift

Thank you for standing by the shore,

Even though you tried to step in.

I do still look behind and see you waving

Whenever I need an extra boost of bravery.

I hope you understand my distance is not a sign of being short on love

I'm simply in a middle of a tempest

Which I must roam away from alone

Your presence falls not flat

in a sea of disinterest

On the far contrary

It falls in tune echoing through the waves of my existence

Your daughter

Don't come knocking on my door though, I'm busy.

Happy Mothers Day