Last Commented Family Poems (502)

What's in a name?
Some say it tells
your nationality.
I say it is the gift
that your mother
gave you beside life.
It is a special
present that is
just for you.
Some may not like
the wrapping it
came in or the
present itself.
God does not make
mistakes your name
is precious to HIM.
Just think of that
the next time you
say i do not like
my name.

Mother,
your boy is crying
alone in the darkness,
his tears run fast and hard.
How sad his expression,
emptied,
isolated,
powerless.

Father,
your son falters
from shame,
the game you both played
had no winners.
Rules were unfair,
short on sympathy
and high with anger.

Sister,
your brother regrets
the guilt of fights,
no light in our relationship,
no one talks,
only mocks.
We live light years apart.

There is a quiet storm emerging
and the shadow in the corner
weeps.
Your brother sits
his tears in tatters,
batter up.
Sister, look at him,
our past continues to leak.
These thoughts haunt,
taunt,
and the stillness rapes my heart.

body in the grip of tearing pain,
Remember to breath, count, mind closed in for those few seconds.

Heavy, full feeling, pain and pressure, and suddenly..

You slide out and the pain is gone,
A small body is placed on my chest, wet and warm,
I look down and there is a cloud of soft hair,
A face and body of an angel with the smallest hands,
You move and seem to curl up into me and my heart swells.

You are the perfect person, and the wonder is you were made
Inside me.

You are MY perfect person and i will protect you always,
My gift.

she lays in the coffin on a pillow of silk,
The rich, deep brown wood like a frame, the cream silk stitched inside adds a softness, a soft pillow completes the bed.

Dark brown long hair flows over the pillow and frames the face of this angel, her skin looks like porclin and white as snow,
Her lips and cheeks rosy and the long lashes lay forever now on her cheek, eyes closed and ready for her long sleep.

Hands closed over her chest as if in prayer, the smell of vanilla, the scent she always used floating around her in a soft cloud.

Beautiful and at rest, a picture of perfection never to grow older, like a rose cut when it is in full bloom and displayed for the finest art works, then captured for all time for the world to see and remember.

Our rose, our snow white, our sister, our angel.

An old tin box rusted slightly with roses that have faded gently at the corners,
Soft hands tenderly lift the box onto her lap, the key turned slowly and the lid lifted.

Inside the letters bound in a ribbon that at one time was a bright pretty red, the pages curling at the edges and the writing faded and hard to read.

From inside that box a rush of memories and feelings come flying at her, she closes her eyes and slow tears fall, a few drops added to the old stains already there.

If she opened the pages she would read his words and again be with him as he sat in the bush with the gunfire around him and wrote his feelings and love down on the pages he sent to her.

She runs her finger over the paper and suddenly his hand seems to cover her hand, she feels the warmth seep into her soul and his eyes are suddenly smiling into her as he stands her up and takes her into his arms, they dance and twirl and he smiles.

She sighs and gently closes the box, the letters still the same, the ribbon still perfect and in place, she has every word he wrote in there, but her eyes don't need to see them, her heart remembers them too well.

So many years after he never returned as he promised, the words still connect him to her soul as it would do again.....one day, she feels it in her heart.

Grazing on lush green leaves, the carm of the trees,
The soft whistle of the wind, no hint of danger, the sun warm on his back, his tail flicking the stray fly.

The wind changed slightly and the warm earthy smell of
Something unknown hits his nose, he stops and his senses
Come alive, he turns his head in the direction of the smell.

As his eyes notice the Man standing with a coat on and a gun
Pointed right at the deers heart, the world seems to stop,
The bullet is like a white hot arrow singing as it comes
It rips into his side and the force makes the deer stumble.

As he sinks to the ground his breathing slowing down, his heartbeats slowly stopping, he watches the Man walk over to him and kneel down, he feels the warm strong hand gently stoke his neck and a strange carm comes over him, his eyes close and his soul lifts up and drifts into a place of peace, his body is lifted and carried over broard shoulders, respected by the Man who send his soul to heaven.

from those around....
ihear aCry....
a mouthful sob....
a hopeless sigh....
I hear their footsteps leaving slow,
And then i know my soul must FLY
A chilly wind
begins to blow,
within my soul,
from head to toe,
And then ,last breath
escapes my lips,it's time to leave.
And i must Go!
So,it is true
(But it's too late)
They said:each soul
has its given date
when it must leave
it's body's core,
and meet with it's
eternal fate.
Oh mark the words that i do say.
Who knows? tomorrow could be your day.

Have you ever been careless?
Have you ever acted reckless?
Has your eternal love ended?
Have you ever been offended?

Does your mind still answers?
Does your soul seek forgiveness?
Does your life seek adventures?
Does a sinner seek their god?

I can only post this questions,
I can't give you their answers,
I am neither a preacher or apostle,
I am nobody of remembrance but your conscious.

Unfolding before my eyes
Something so beautiful
Makes me want to cry
But bravely I smile
And watch as my little girl
leaves the child behind.

Games of pretend
And an imaginary friend
Are all left far behind
As she peers into the mirror
At the face that looks like her mother

With a wrinkle of the nose
In her hair she adjusts
The rose
That sits as it were
Grown from her tight little curls

Oh My!
I cough and stutter
Something has gone in my eye
As I bravely wipe the tears away
And feel my heart a-flutter

The time has flown
And she has grown
But the games of pretend
Have begun again
As I dust her room, toys and books
I sit on her bed and talk
To my imaginary friend...
My daughter