This poem
Is for the child
Sprinting through the crimson streets
Tripping over the last breaths
Of his father—
For the mother
Protecting her babies’ ears
From the piercing shrieks that echo
Long after the ashes settle—
This poem
Is for the child
Sprinting through the crimson streets
Tripping over the last breaths
Of his father—
For the mother
Protecting her babies’ ears
From the piercing shrieks that echo
Long after the ashes settle—
Her lips were as soft as the silky petals
Of all the roses in the meadow,
And her body swayed as graceful as
The flurries of the winter snow.
When I left her, my tears
Watered the meadow green.
All the days can pass, but this king
Will not find another queen.
© 2020 Jade M. Wong
Read More »This is not a poem.
Where do I find the words
To convey the shock,
The stillness of the air,
The fading of the sounds,
As I read the news that she is gone.
It is easy to look at our humanity
And see all the ways it is cruel.
Sometimes,
We are blessed to have someone
With quiet strength and unquestionable courage,
With the grace of a king and the will of a warrior,
To remind us of all the ways
Our humanity is not yet lost.