Biography of melissa mundy
Fell in love with writing at age 12.Worked in nursing with a focus on women's health and education during early years of career. Became fascinated by law re violence against women and children and worked for the Camden County Prosecutor addressing both. Studied writing and literature continuously. Recently moved to the mountains in Pa. Am writing and painting full-time now. Am still as much in love as I was when I was 12....
melissa mundy's Works:
Memories (poetry and illustration of a childrens book in Brick, NJ)
melissa mundy Poems
I am the dream that dfid not die ravaged child of love denied witness to a history that no longer matters the face in the mirror times hand has shattered
Life speaks softly in between the silent spaces left by the husband who no longer hears you.
Requiem For A Son
You came to me again last night through a dream no one can steal. I reached for you with arms of lead
In the endless nights that follow her death, I gather my trash bags and swing them like a weapon
Panther, Oh Panther Your eyes flash fire as you stalk invisible ghosts in the mist outside your cage.
I Am Your Child
I Am Your Child My eyes blaze a hole into what is left of your soul.
Behind the prison bars in the metal cage which holds her, she draws his rage
The Finish Line
The Heavens reached down for you. I lost the tug of war. Your hand slipped so easily from my own as I lost the game
It is easy to hide no one can tell you flew apart you have fallen too many times you grasp for hands that are not extended
The glowing bride floats down the aisle a vision in white with an ethereal smile. The sour faced women housed in their pews politely pretend this is nothing new.
Conversion Of Innocence
You never lose your innocence until you walk toward death. The heartbeat stills, the void immense, airless swirling, earth without breath.
After midnight the stars went out vanishing the fleeing moon darkness holds our hands as night takes it's tumble toward the day
You say we will chip away until the mind rests sane. Bu never did I hear you say your sculptures burn in pain.
Winter winds sing around the tent as you are born
We'd say it was your birthday song; but in your desert land
that is sung the moment your mother fell in love