My Young Men Are My Peace After Every Storm
My miracles I’m thankful for every single day
I firmly believe I was born to be a mother
From the earliest of ages I can remember,
I knew I wanted to fill my life with children
Wanted ten and didn’t care what gender.
***
So imagine my devastation when advised
That I could never look upon my own child,
Medically I would never be able to conceive
And this news took me years to reconcile.
***
But miracles do occur when least expected
And I was gifted with, not one baby, but two,
Both glorious little boys that held my heart
With gratitude to the universe, I thank you.
***
There is not a single day that has passed
That just the thought of my two young men,
Brings me into a state of calm and peace
Anchors me in my life time and time again.
***
Any moment I spend in their company
Is like a wonderful breathe of fresh air,
We don’t feel the need of constant chatter
In fact we appreciate the silence we share.
***
My greatest achievement, these two souls
And when the three of us are all together,
We can tune out the rest of this wide world
Releasing our angst from external pressures.
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Originally posted on Medium
About the Creator
Colleen Millsteed
My first love is poetry — it’s like a desperate need to write, to free up space in my mind, to escape the constant noise in my head. Most of the time the poems write themselves — I’m just the conduit holding the metaphorical pen.
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More stories from Colleen Millsteed and writers in Poets and other communities.
Broken Glass
Of all the students Mr. Benedick expected to see in his office, he did not expect the boy who was sitting there. What grade was this one, he thought? He walked over to his desk, looked at the folder Ms. Diner had left out for him, and opened it. There was a photo inside of it, taken from last year’s picture day. Not much growth; not too different. The boy sitting in front of him had nothing strange or unusual in his file, if a child’s life defined by having “nothing disruptive or regretful” in it could be called fine. Mr. Benedick also realized that “life” was an anagram of “file,” and wondered where that thought came from as he stared at the boy in front of him. Benny Duncan. Grade Four. Beloved by all his teachers so far. He had seen the boy playing with the other boys his age in the school yard at recess. Four Square and foot hockey. A normal-looking kid. A normal kid… And here he was, after a very stupid moment with the fire alarm and a shoe.
By Kendall Defoe 4 days ago in Fiction
Comments (3)
Wowww they're both mirable babies! Your life is so inspirational!
very beautiful tribute to your sons.
Very sweet! Congrats on your achievement!