Adopted Memories of Life
Shades of Life
This poem is written from the point of view of a woman who was violated, but tried to do her best for the child subsequently born. I hope it conjures up the images that I hope to portray, especially the devastation left behind. The photograph of the red rose is from my own collection and it has special personal memories for me.
The stunning beauty of the blood red rose,
with a prick so sharp as to draw blood.
Glorious petals of velvet touch unfold
to the wealth of daylight hours that stray
like blossoms chasing over the grave.
Beneath which lays the remains in dust.
of a mother laid to rest, was brave
and who’s sad shadows are those that live,
In ignorance and abandoned bliss.
Her love once cherished, her tender touch
so cradled within her breast,
engaging shudders of lingering lust
now gone below ground to rest.
Memories of those most missed,
who should always be called to hear
of the love from the child above
to the heart of his mother, dear.
She was so tender and forever close her touch.
the grave holds no secrets, pain is just a blush
from a vision of life that has let her slip away,
with a betrayal told in daylight hours
that should never be allowed to stay.
Golden tendrils spiral from the sun above,
the raindrops flow gently down to earth,
and from the heart of man and child
has wisdom shown what it is worth?
Cherished thoughts, secrets shared
as love forth from the loins did stray.
A gift of love that has been blessed,
and secretly sent his way.
A man sits upon a bench to seek his rightful heir,
a rainbows crest waits in the sky, until his cries are heard,
for the love of his kindred spirit he doth mourn,
the violation he committed has left him all fore lorn.
For wondrous is the gift of life to share with other men,
and the grace and poise of the lily white
Is left to grace our home again.
Yet, the stamens of bright orange within these walls
to share their brilliance to the end of time,
are wrapped in cellophane for those to see
through the closed eyelids in their minds.
Hope and fear are born of man,
and everlasting they should be.
Lest anyone forget the mother broken to her knees,
with lost pride for her young children
who lead a life of crime and shame.
Such tender knowledge, the portrait of life painted
as she prayed they would never gain
insight from the woman left to shrivel and lie
In the shadows deep and the forgotten grave,
In the recess of his mind.
If life was just a garden, then let it be ordained,
full of beauty and endless colours
to be admired, nonchalantly, framed
as a profusion of great feelings to honour our love so true
memories forever secret, kept lovingly of you.
From marigolds and tulips,
that grace upon this earth
visions of such calm and serenity for all it is worth,
and the strength of the tall pine tree
with needles fine and sharp,
as to remind the grieving soul, sweet music from the harp.
Yest-er year still stands alone, vibrant and stunning,
forever in the corpses mind, the sight of children running.
Until one day we leave this land from whence wherever we came
and are just returned again to dust, and there always to remain,
Those memories of who we were conceived from love or lust.
our parents duly named but who we couldn’t trust.
And as Mother Nature cares for all in which she believes,
Let this landscape of our hereditary cast wishes upon the breeze.
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