Ode To Mother Theresa: The One True Saint Poem by Axley Jade Blaze

There's a mental image of her that settles,
Yes, it's tucked in the corners of my mind.
Like the Mona Lisa, the visions—a rare, unusual find.
My Mona Lisa, Mother Theresa
She was my one true Saint, the most magnificent
I would choose to capture, deliver, show off, I would paint.
Unconditional in her love, her natural ability, her affection
She's my top vote for sainthood, most wholesome, in the election.
Yet, these confessions are an infection—
which travels through my bloodstream.
Like a painful, deadly injection, because of the pain, I mean.
A monstrous behemoth's erection—
It is devastating, excruciating.
Sometimes the dreams feel as though I am hallucinating!
Because, even when she had zero left, I picture her giving—
Her offerings, her love.
Her emotional wealth made us feel blessed.
I rejoice from the memories she gave to us, offered,
She could smooth the jagged edge of any soul—
Turn the toughest softer.
I have visions, sometimes;
Those hugs, the warmth, motherly and awesome!
Ferocious in her love, unconditional.
Now, I feel like a lost one!
Her sweaters, so soft, her delicacy, her cardigans,
which always smelled so good.
If I had one day, I could steal or buy—
I would.
One instance of saying a tearful goodbye.
One final hug, one kiss, one smile, one laugh or
her precious, tired sigh.
This other thing might go away:
This wanting to die.

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