Mum Poem by ktarcus ...

Indolent artistry conforming with naught but oblivion,
Eyes restless from the strain of watching constant dross portrayed as art,
Hands, weary of shaking soulless corpses of lost compassion,
Is it any wonder that the nights seem longer and the summers far shorter when all around is false protection brokered by the man with the money?

Oh for those days of yore when all time was a suspension of reason,
All beauty a fingertips glance away from normality,
Breathless vistas of heavenly hosts cascading in the morning mist as lambs gamboled on the topiary lawn, fresh from circumcision.

It pales into insignificance when held up to the scrutiny of your soft mournful-heart.
How the days must endless be without the ones you love!
Taken as they were before their time!
One can only hope and prey that comfort may be found at some later stage.

Until that day rest assured that my heart will be forever at your disposal should you need of sustenance or comfort for I am indebted for all time to the woman who gave me life xx