A POET'S CHILDHOOD

THERE are brilliant pebbles on fire

within the expansive skies

And there are stones as bright 

upon the ground

How both I have walked:

my eyes toward the skies

my eyes toward my feet

How to celebrate the love

of my own personality

i often sing to myself

That I comfort the essence

of my Soul

for every bit belongs to me

as it does with you.

How my house as child was not

a haven of security

but the fragrance of my mother

was there before night

Teenage years:  The key in my pocket, 

heavy with responsibility

to unlock the door to an uncertain reality

Through the haze of cigarette smoke

I'd navigate, trying not to choke

On the bitterness that hung in the air

A reminder of a life lived in despair

Yet in those moments of solitude

I found solace in my own fortitude

A resilience born from adversity

A strength forged in the flames of uncertainty

For though my childhood was marred

By the demons that haunted and scarred

I learned to find beauty in the cracks

To see the light shining through the tracks

So as I walk these paths of mine

With stars above and stones that shine

I carry with me the lessons learned

From a childhood where I yearned

For love, for safety, for peace of mind

Yet in the absence, I learned to find

The strength within to stand tall

And embrace the journey, flaws and all.

:: 02.22.2024 ::

Reviews

[Fabian G. Franklin]

This is beautiful in the most interpretive sense. The beauty is on the inside, between the lines validating the truth of existence; that we are more than the sum of our parts and experiences; we hope, we dream, we envision and we aspire. "resilience born from adversity" describes it well but it's even more than resilience, it's growing beyond what our surroundings dictate to overcome. And that was the beauty for me, the strength, perseverance, courage and hope of the author. I loved this write!

[E.P. Robles]

Thank you for your kind review. I appreciate it very much.

[James Eichenlaub]

Art can be a line on a page; what makes it "art" is the heart of the person who put it there. Bourn through adversity...the heart expands and fills itself with the need for expression. I understand.

[Mauricio Montoya]

Hey I can relate to this write the title got my attention, I started putting word's together at young age and I still put my simply word's together thank you for sharing your thoughts,

[emmajoygreen]

Looking back can be the aftertaste of a time best forgotten if could be. Your finely laid poem somehow spins a life that regurgitates a past best forgotten but can't be, perhaps never will. This could be drama were it not so hellishly real.

[E.P. Robles]

Isn’t poetry drama? Joy. Fear? Love? Lost things? I subscribe to life and the fingerprints it leaves.

[emmajoygreen]

Of course. Profuse apologies, perhaps I should have typed melodrama but that would have inferred insult which would have been inappro- priate and discourteous.

[Poetic Beauty]

It is amazing how we can see things differently and find peace within by using writing and imagination as a way to escape the despair that linger like cigarettes smoke, thick and stale.

[E.P. Robles]

stale smoke, glasses of wine, food. And some unmentionable things. ;)