Mother, who made me
you see that child bare with smiles on his
face you see that
lamp that shrouds his color in a peach light of
star you see that
way he grows up to a
fault the way he
smiles in your direction never
sure to start conversation but a
joy to see and hear and though he
may be far away you dream a
strange restricting wail towards the
sky and watch in vain as he might
live to be a year or two as
life would slip you by much more than
he could never love you what with
time and space and friends and what with
him being the
gentleman he is when not a
word that leaves his mouth is more than
ruby sapphire speech and all that
speaking makes you cry with the
sencerity of tone and what with
every thing he says or in the
middle of some dryspell you could
scratch the metal gun from ‘neath his
chest and watch in awe at
transformation of the
kindly eyes and shiny
hats to rocky
stone and hands that feed her
growing hair and
eyes to see him that
that hungry eyed child was scared enough but then he
slept on some odd tree and left a
message in his hand but still
intact and open free:
i saw you
saw me found me pray you
don’t get caught up in this
storm to search for me lest that the
cloud above your head lead way to see
you over the last hill of
streamy sound
Copyright 2014 Golden Star Poetry
Golden Star Poetry 