Days are gone now...
Into years.
Pain is sacred;
Holy tears.
Precious diamonds
Glistening on cheeks-
Rounded in youth,
Now smooth and sleek.
Limbs that would crush
In desperate Love...
Seraphim embrace
Now stiffened and smug.
Gone is the child...
Innocence lost.
Age has paid
Too high a cost.
The Angel's wings-
Feathers sheared.
Clipped and dripping
Unshed tears.
Diamonds once-
Now useless glass.
Remnants
Of a distant past.
Mother's arms
Held fiercer yet;
Until they fell-
....the Grave is wet...
Shimmering lament
Of Sorrow spent.
That fateful day,
No courage lent
From Father's face
Nor friends
Embrace.
Colder still
Than stone engraved...
A Heart-
Still warm
Beats,
In the Grave.
The Heart that lives
Takes on the Stone.
Dreadful burden
To carry home.
Chubby limbs
Shall stretch to grace;
Never recalling
The Mother's face.
Dewey cheeks
Shall dry,
And yet-
The Heart is cold
While the Grave,
Is wet.
....and the Stone
carried Home
By her Alone-
a subtle weight
for one to bear.
like Mother's memory-
barely there.....
YOU ARE READING
Book Of Counted Sorrows
ŞiirAn exercise in demented Adventure. A Test of ingenious Insanity. Fragile words spewed forth into the abyss of the the electronic medium. Diamonds forged in the coalmines of Memory. *OR......just pages upon pages of crap ;-)...* Only Time and Effort...
