For them...

For them...

My pens dipped before, I do not refute,
dipped to show love, to tribute,
that special one, those special ones,
those whom we call mothers, us daughters and sons.

But times have changed, the sand's falling,
and a new salutes in the calling,
one to our mothers, the givers of life,
gods incarnate, removers of strife.

Mature as have over the years,
you still allay all of our fears,
jewels of the minds, hearts of our souls,
dear mother it is us whom you do control.

Yes, as children we may fight and disobey,
and in these rhymes do we pray,
whatever rigours may come by us,
we forever get to do so thus...

Simply thinking of you fulfills,
our hungry stomachs; and those sudden spills
of emotion, are gently caressed,
as if your hands, loving and unstressed.

Like the north star, always guiding are you
but alas! Thoughts are many and words are few,
and long overdue are these ones, to remind,
more unique gems you cannot find.

We love you, to put it straight,
and will always be there at any rate,
for our greatest treasures, givers of life,
gods incarnate, removers of strife.

- A.C.

Growing Up

Growing Up

There comes a stage in everyone's life,
when at times alls euphoria, at others all is strife,
and coming off the blessed ignorance of babehood...
one must speak and think to understand, to be understood...

What is this strange occurence,
Explainable to all but us?
When a single word can spell interference,
and the very same gifts relief and trust?

They warn us against body changes,
to heed advice, to listen to them,
to use constraint, looking at our hormone ranges,
constraint? adolescence? all Ad Nauseam!

My heads spinning, for a sudden moment of clarity,
is often replaced with confusion or void,
why this unnatural disparity?
Meaningful? Or just to make me paranoid?

My goals are set; My rhythm? Not yet.
but I realize I must move on, ahead,
and that its just a matter of time, before my rhythm does begin to rhyme,
and in place of being adviced, I advise instead.

This puzzle right now, tightly coded,
the key seemingly with all but me,
old ways of younger days may be outmoded,
and will I crack it? We shall see.

I have faith that triumph I will,
with help from those who'll see my alm-box to fill,
and walk whichever way, I may , I know,
that the final things that have to be done, are mine to do so....

-A.C.

A talisman for the unsure...