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for Mom
(echoing hack's poem)
I remember her dreams, so little fulfilled.
Rivers with boats too frail
often hurled aground onto sandbanks,
onto nil.
Arias of light operas she loved
and musical comedy films with which
she stole moments from hardship;
And I can still see
how her face changed from stone to flower
by my sickbed as my head cooled down.
I also see, lifelike,
her face changing from flower to talc
as the last tide came
and washed against what was left of her.
Wonderfully tender - but I couldn't find a definition of "malm" that fit?
Thank you my friend, for this beautiful sad reply. It is a loss like no other.
Thank you both: hack and prince, "malm" is supposed to be a friable stone, but I changed it to "talc", for its colour...
A very moving poem
This is well penned; the subject matter is so personal that it hardly seems to matter though. This strikes me as an example of the purest type of poetry, the type concerned with raw emotion, not just fancy talk. Thank you for sharing.
I am grateful for your comments, dara.cv, Sampson! best inspiration to you all!