A Mothers Jealousy

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
A sad poem directed towards a headstone.
Not Rhyming Poetry.

Submitted: July 05, 2017

A A A | A A A

Submitted: July 05, 2017



For the first time

since he was taken from me,

I can look back upon the stars of God

in amongst of awe once more.


The stars swirl around themselves

like spinning tops with no end,

just before the sharp bend

that has taken him to the holy church above.


On a cloud, he does sit

and you must never laugh at it.

High above my son will wait,

until the day my life tests fate.


On that day, I will fly

on the magic carpet ride;

past the perpetual penance of death

to be with my son on high.


I will wait; for all eternity I can wait

to see my son, just a glimpse, just a clasp

of his reality, to help me on my bypass

through this society.


Now my son is guarded

by a stone yard grave.

I can no longer defend my baby

from this wayward, world of sin.


A stone will never be enough

for I want to be the one.

To defend my darling son,

for as long as my will pretends.


A stone has accomplished

what I failed to achieve.

Protecting, devoted, loving.

What should still be mine!


I want my son back once more…

© Copyright 2018 Ann Morse. All rights reserved.

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