The Gift

 

To have grown without the grain of hate.

To sleep and want to wake before the school day starts.

To finally believe in happy endings, and beginnings,

and later, to know that it wasn't my fault.

To not be the crop she raised from kernel

to a raging field of fire, taking

half a span and passing to extinguish.

To not walk wanting, or wounded through the stubble,

smoke lying low on the horizon,

watching spiral wisps of what could be

and wasn't.

 

To be raised in a meadow full of buttercups and trust,

and a smile sweetly meant, malice furthest

from the heart as other galaxies to Earth.

To not look for love

in all the thorny places,

from other damaged crops,

recreating origins.

To know enough to realise

that kindness rears the highest yield,

the taller trees, unbent.

 

What I didn't have myself

I made a present of,

unwrapped and unconditional.

Swaddled her in safe

to grow as tall as trees are meant to grow,

knowing that my heart is hers,

that I am always there in a meadow

full of buttercups and trust.

 

 

NaPoMoWri 2019

◄ Sustenance Rap

Buzzword Bingo ►

Comments

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Laura Taylor

Mon 8th Apr 2019 09:30

Hi Peter - thank you, I was pleased with it, allowed me to say some things that have been bubbling under for a while.

Yeh, I stopped posting for various reasons, and am only back for April cos it's Napowrimo month. You should have a go at it. It's a real challenge. Sometimes you come out with some real duffers, and then there's others that pop out as gold 😃

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Peter Taylor

Sun 7th Apr 2019 20:37

Hi Laura. This is spectacularly beautiful. Haven't heard from you for ages and then a deluge. More time required to read it all!

Peter T

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Laura Taylor

Sun 7th Apr 2019 16:57

Day 7 of Napowrimo

http://www.napowrimo.net/

Today's prompt: write a poem of gifts and joy. What would you give yourself, if you could have anything? What would you give someone else?

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