When waking up cold with a mouth full of ash as you barrel down the tracks--bracing for the crash,
and the moisture in the air hangs thick with venom, and that cruel voice inside whispers ideas; should you let him?
Yet in the blink of an eye, and the cause still unsure, the venom dissipates, once again the air is pure.
It must be her smile or her laugh or her eyes, the only even match would be the sunset or sunrise.
A bad morning to good, and a good evening to great, she has powers like that: power to inflate;
the power to inflate those rare feelings of joy, she has beauty and charm and smarts to deploy.
Now the voice has gone quiet and the skies sparkle blue; with her at your side you get by and get through;
through any obstacle that claims it's too wide, heavy, or tall; she points out beautiful windows where before her it was simply a wall.
About the Creator
NJ Reed
Therapy, work, and passion--but which is it most?
(I'm not a robot, but I'm also not Richard Brautigan)
OF MOTHERHOOD.
Dear mother-to-be, I wanted to let you know how very, very special I think you are. I don't think there can be any job that is more meaningful than the one you are about to begin, that of being a mom. You are the most important person in the world to your precious unborn baby, and you will be for many years.
By Catherine Nyomenda6 days ago in Writers
Comments (1)
This was so deep and beautiful! Loved your wondering poem!