Deborah J Richard

These mother's hands have reached and held,
brushed away many a tear.
They washed and cleaned, mended many a thing,
pulled their child close, just to be near.
...

Along the garden path one day,
I sought respite and stopped.
And in the air, a lingering…
Twas roses, so I thought.
...

Placed just so, in balance
Assuming proper place,
Planets high in order;
For all the human race.
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In perspiration,
I writhe, contort, grind, rock low
Wet snow cools my heat
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She softly steps in to sense and assess
Her instincts refined, she can do no less

Is it cut or sore; or of the mind?
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A daughter, a son
Mothers heart, loving, caring,
nuturing. Breaking.
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Arms stretched, demanding
Mighty king of his domain
The crib looks so small
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Lights dim, the crowd roars
Bass boom takes over the room
My head bangs in time
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Once a family of five
Now reduced to four
A brother dearly loved
But, seen no more
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Mysterious, complex,
Components, secret, hidden from view,
Yet vibrant and outlandish;
Possessing many hues.
...