This is one of my earlier poems.
This poem got one of the most beautiful comments ever. I have it embedded in my heart, for now and forever. :)
A lady named Janie Wyatt commented - Nikita as a Woman who likes to write poems & Mother who has had to bury 2 children - as much as it hurt to read, I loved it ♥ . You have captured my pain and love ♥ and put it into terms that most will be able to understand. I hope you don't mind but I printed off a copy to put in my book of poems so I can read it when the pain strikes like it so often does. Thank you and keep up the writing.
Following is the poem:
Decaying away in the distance,
Slowly, Painfully, Pathetically,
Lies a young, delicate girl,
My babe, my honey-tongued child…
Pretty as a Picture,
With her silken blouse to keep her warm,
But can it? Can it keep the chill?
From entering her mortal soul?
I know she needs her Mommy,
To help her read the alphabet,
A B C D… From D comes Dust and
From A comes Ashes,
Ashes to Dust and Dust to Wind,
Is all I’m reminded…
Did she need to go away so soon?
At 4, she was like a Virgin at Life,
But the ruthless Big Red Bus,
Probably didn’t think so…
Like the early June drizzle,
She left me alone,
Crying and lamenting,
And pitying my poor soul…
Tears freeze in my eyes,
As I watch her being lowered,
Deeper down still in the worm-laden soil…
I stop my tears from flowing,
As they blind my vision,
Don’t want to miss my baby’s last smile...
Always smiling, a happy child she was,
Never complaining, till she was alive,
But now she seems to say, Mum,
Won’t you read me a Bed-time story?
Sorry Sweet Lamb, but I really wish I could,
Wish I could get rid of your resonance,
The horror you’ve left me with,
Now how do I deal with this Ominous Silence?
This poem got one of the most beautiful comments ever. I have it embedded in my heart, for now and forever. :)
A lady named Janie Wyatt commented - Nikita as a Woman who likes to write poems & Mother who has had to bury 2 children - as much as it hurt to read, I loved it ♥ . You have captured my pain and love ♥ and put it into terms that most will be able to understand. I hope you don't mind but I printed off a copy to put in my book of poems so I can read it when the pain strikes like it so often does. Thank you and keep up the writing.
Following is the poem:
Decaying away in the distance,
Slowly, Painfully, Pathetically,
Lies a young, delicate girl,
My babe, my honey-tongued child…
Pretty as a Picture,
With her silken blouse to keep her warm,
But can it? Can it keep the chill?
From entering her mortal soul?
I know she needs her Mommy,
To help her read the alphabet,
A B C D… From D comes Dust and
From A comes Ashes,
Ashes to Dust and Dust to Wind,
Is all I’m reminded…
Did she need to go away so soon?
At 4, she was like a Virgin at Life,
But the ruthless Big Red Bus,
Probably didn’t think so…
Like the early June drizzle,
She left me alone,
Crying and lamenting,
And pitying my poor soul…
Tears freeze in my eyes,
As I watch her being lowered,
Deeper down still in the worm-laden soil…
I stop my tears from flowing,
As they blind my vision,
Don’t want to miss my baby’s last smile...
Always smiling, a happy child she was,
Never complaining, till she was alive,
But now she seems to say, Mum,
Won’t you read me a Bed-time story?
Sorry Sweet Lamb, but I really wish I could,
Wish I could get rid of your resonance,
The horror you’ve left me with,
Now how do I deal with this Ominous Silence?
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