deepundergroundpoetry.com
My Mother's Eyes
My mother's eyes are warm,
but not really,
they are muggy,
they are damp,
but not a watery eyed damp,
like a dark, cold basement.
that kind of damp,
the damp mold festers in.
that is my mother's eyes.
the sadness that has clung to her,
has sat festering,
rotting, in her eyes
for so long,
that her eyes absorbed it,
they adapted,
to the hate,
and pain,
the loss and guilt,
she accepted it,
and now there is no getting
real loving, happy warmth back through the darkness that has forever claimed her eyes.
but not really,
they are muggy,
they are damp,
but not a watery eyed damp,
like a dark, cold basement.
that kind of damp,
the damp mold festers in.
that is my mother's eyes.
the sadness that has clung to her,
has sat festering,
rotting, in her eyes
for so long,
that her eyes absorbed it,
they adapted,
to the hate,
and pain,
the loss and guilt,
she accepted it,
and now there is no getting
real loving, happy warmth back through the darkness that has forever claimed her eyes.
Published 22nd Jan 2015
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22nd Jan 2015 2:30am
