MotherA Poem by BeccyShe grows weary now; there is a certain thickening around the middle and her ancient limbs tremble with the weight of recalcitrant children still chasing rainbows. She has mood swings, storm clouds and much brighter suns than before; an unsettling of the seasons as she retreats from the remnants of a rapacious and destructive age. Translucent as parchment, her skin shines, tightly drawn in slow decay, her brittle bones laid waste to the unthinking chaos of time. Yet still, her blood courses, blue veined, swelling the seas of consequence, until all that remains is distant memory; And the knowledge, that conscious, unconscious, there were few that ever marked the morning dew.
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Added on March 1, 2015Last Updated on July 17, 2019 AuthorBeccyUnited KingdomAboutI'm forty four, single and have a lovely fifteen year old son called Charlie. I've been writing poetry and short stories since I can remember. I have always been an assiduous reader of poetry and real.. more..Writing
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