A childs Song

my modesty, my gratitude,
built in your name,
your image,
you, who created a dream for me,
who joined two lives together for me,
you with your voice,
across the phone in several tongues,
bringing countries together,
so I could understand,

Ama,
Grief cannot be a word to describe my punctured heart now,
full, pulsating,
You took me me from hell,
and made me a heaven,
You gave me what no other could,
Love like yours, only a dream could form
A love like yours, is what the Angels come pray at the feet for,
A love like yours, not to be experienced in this life again,

You in your coffin now,
how traumatising it is,
for me to live a life alone,
A backbone you became,
yet today,
I grow collapsed,
Ribs not carrying the weight of this heavy heart.


What are hearts?
Only pulsating flesh,
causing iridescent views on life,
A suffering which cannot be put into words.

These words are weak.
I will try again, to ignite the memory of you.

explore & read More Poetry

Me duele

this yellow, red, flowers of amberburnstrickles over as if pollen,staining the skin and any object it touches, like a vampire,leaving

and I awaken

and I Awaken,In Her Spirit that has not Forgotten Me,her people remember me,the waters continue to feed me,Clean me Out

Bee Stings

Love,and its Pains,Its Sting mightier than the Others,The Bee,and how it Punctures deep,Leaves its Pinchers in Flesh,Leaves me Bloodied,Black, Yellow,