Today's poem is both observational and confessional. The very nature of the poem led me to omit any punctuation. For me it adds to the flow of the stanza.
There are many things a woman will do in a day. Often to the detriment of her own health. Does that make her a martyr or misguided? I often ponder this thought and as such this poem bloomed in my mind and I dedicate it to all the mothers out there… keep giving. :)
Inert
A wave of tiredness covers her skin
A yawning ache rising deep from within
A darkened eye blinks back sleeps onset
A dream arrives so the dreamer forgets
A stolen moment where chaos now reins
A frozen pause while blood surges in veins
A granule taken from the sands of time
A mark in that sand as she falls at her line
A calmness envelopes a face hiding woe
A peaceful existence in a life to and fro
A beckoning slumber at sleeps sweet door
A second before she is woken once more
By Helen Stallard
May 31, 2014
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