SHE

 

"I'm alone" She held me close as her story escaped her lips. 

She spoke like her pain was a gift,

She held me like a blessing,

She said "you're my world."

I could not understand the miracle she spoke of. 

She spoke softly in phrases yet her strength showed in her actions.

I grew older, I saw her grow weaker.

She never told her story but I always felt sorry, 

Not at her state but sorry because time

was a great surgeon at etching the

webs of time on her bosom, my bosom of life.

She called and pulled me close,

I melted in her embrace, she was cold but I felt warm.

Home was always in her arms.

"My story is not one for pity" she had said as

She told me her story. Frames moving in her mind. 

I didn't have to guess, her tale tells itself on skin. 

She spoke of times I couldn't comprehend.

She painted images with words and I was pulled into her time.

I can't help but wonder who she would have been without me.

She said, "I prayed and worked for you",

She didn't believe in herself but, "I placed my trust in you and the strength of the back." 

She said she doesn't believe in God but

"For as long as I'll live, I'll put you on a pedestal." 

She looked at me as the all in all of her faith and hope.

 

Her tale was cold with little warmth but

She told this with a smile on. 

No bitterness, just love at what she has manifested into the world.

I have many wishes that they feel like regrets.

What I can do for her and for how long I can keep her.

I want her to enjoy life and rest knowing she didn't fail.

She's my mother. 

She spoke softly,

Mostly phrases but was great at storytelling.

Men left her, she felt cursed but

She birthed me, made me her world,

Called me her blessing and became one with nature.

I've seen her, her power and her weakness.

She isn't much from a distance but

Sit at her feet and you'll see the world.

She's the world, from her comes the world.

©Phoenix