Words can swarm and leave the children dry
The temperature's sleeve is an ancient goodbye
The clock's blinking backwards reflecting her crimes
Because the weight of a soldier kneeled into time
And maybe our mothers can't know what they want
But the stampede of justice breaks into the front
Waves surging higher carved the earth blunt
Because a heart's decision is merely a stunt
And don't lie
We all know it's the truth
Just rub your eyes
In that telephone booth
And realize
You're the receiver
Cradled in your tear stained hands
Just don't live up to her demands
So take the clock's palms and whisper her fate
Because you're a failure devoid of mistakes
And maybe your sickness will never escape
But somehow you have to accept it's ok
Mothers raise sons and lose them in war. The clock outlives us all. I like your poem. There are many allusions stirred up by it for the reader to contemplate. Well done.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Here I go again. But I think you're tough enough to take it. I sort of get the idea of what you're driving at, but in my mnd, the thoughts are a little obtuse and hard to reach because many of the words do not have enough of a relation to their context. On the other hand, I say it's a good try. : Let me know if I have to expand my meaning. And I really don't think I have all the answers.