Defining a remedy that was clearly the best
as the warm fluid coated our irritated throats
Mom’s cup of hot lemon tea
sang a silent lullaby for a good night’s rest.
This ritual could not be rushed
for the cup of hot lemon tea
would not permit that to be.

Cradled in her floral tapestry rocking chair
she savored the hot fluid in a fine, gold rim bone china teacup
often falling asleep engulfed in tranquility
like a butcher’s scale
balancing the cup on her lap
never once spilling a single drop.

Touching her gently
not to abruptly startle her
I whispered, “Mom wake up.”
Opening her eyes
smiling and resuming her metrical rocking
with a pacifying look
and a calm demure reply
she stated, “I wasn’t asleep, only resting my eyes.”

Picking up the same habit
whether my throat was irritated or not
slowly drifting to an enticing nap
tranquilized and unable to finish that nice hot brew
on my lap I balance a cup and saucer
hearing the whisper of a yet familiar voice saying
“Wake up before you burn yourself!”

Looking at this photo reminds me of what i’ve learned when I was in School… It was a poem…

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that, the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
two roads diverged in a wood, and I –
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

she tormented me with her smile
and prasied me with her stlye
hidden in blood, my heart was slain
left to rott alone in pain

she is the demon in my mind,
and my angel with love so pure and fine
the only one who see’s me standing here
standing alone clentching on to this fear

loaded words,pierce my flesh
stealing my very next breath
the pain is almost to much to bare
but i can’t help but smirk and stare

wacthing as the blood drips
and the feeling of death’s grip
grasp hold of me so tight
just to make sure i sleep, just right

Still left empty inside’ all you have taken away
Cold and still denied’ so i end up going astray
So what am I to do? Because it is myself that I blame
I can’t seem to run or hide away from all of the shame

The feelings I feel of you are utterly out of control
Just unmanageable’ remembrance’ I can’t console
I am stuck here and your heart it still all remains
Reminiscence of you while going down memory lane

All that we had ever done together’ just holding hands
Love for each other deep inside our hearts’ creating plans
But now you are not the same person you were years ago
You have evolved into somebody that i no longer know

You’re just not the same’ you have changed way too much
It has become such a shame we have lost our since of touch
I am still longing for your presence to just appear once again
Even if we could become friends is fine but I just want to mend

I stare right pass you in a daze,
With all the bloody tears running down my heart,
You see it raining in my blood shot eyes,
I can’t stand to hear the empty silence,
In my head,
It doesn’t help the numb broken pieces,
In my heart
Walking down every dark highway,
Flashing lights, Blind my eyes,
Plays a disturbing film, In the dark,
I’ll put your gun against my head,
One last look at you leaves a scare on your heart,

And it’s you,
That put the gun in my hand,
And it’s the gun,
You heard drop to the floor,
And it’s my,
Broken promise the gun lays next to,
And it was you,
That held my hand, and I’ll never let go,

Black is the church where all the broken hearts cry in,
When the coffin slides down the isle,
Right under the death words the rabi whispers,
Next time you hear me,
I’ll be screaming in the night,
With my hands drenched in your blood,

And it’s you,
That put the gun in my hand,
And it’s the gun,
You heard drop to the floor,
And it’s my,
Broken promise the gun lays next to,
And it was you,
That held my hand, and I’ll never let go,

Sorry for the blood that stained your floor,
I tried to see you through my blood shot eyes,
But couldn’t stay awake for that one last minute,
To say goodbye to you,
Don’t for get to lay the black rose across my coffin,

And it’s you,
That put the gun in my hand,
And it’s the gun,
You heard drop to the floor,
And it’s my,
Broken promise the gun lays next to,
And it was you,
That held my hand, and I’ll never let go,

If I Were Her Lover….

I

If I were her lover,
I’d wade through the clover
Over the fields before
The gate that leads to her door;
Over the meadows,
To wait, ‘mid the shadows,
The shadows that circle her door,
For the heart of my heart and more.
And there in the clover
Close by her,
Over and over
I’d sigh her:
“Your eyes are as brown
As the Night’s, looking down
On waters that sleep
With the moon in their deep” . . .
If I were her lover to sigh her.

II

If I were her lover,
I’d wade through the clover
Over the fields before
The lane that leads to her door;
I’d wait, ‘mid the thickets,
Or there by the pickets,
White pickets that fence in her door,
For the life of my life and more.
I’d lean in the clover—
The crisper
For the dews that are over—
And whisper:
“Your lips are as rare
As the dewberries there,
As ripe and as red,
On the honey-dew fed” . . .
If I were her lover to whisper.

III

If I were her lover,
I’d wade through the clover
Over the field before
The pathway that leads to her door;
And watch, in the twinkle
Of stars that sprinkle
The paradise over her door,
For the soul of my soul and more.
And there in the clover
I’d reach her;
And over and over
I’d teach her—
A love without sighs,
Of laughterful eyes,
That reckoned each second
The pause of a kiss,
A kiss and . . . that is
If I were her lover to teach her.