A short poem
The lighthouse guides no one it seems
When it is sun’s shift to shine
It only comes alive at twilight
When eyes cannot define.
But what happens when a lighthouse dies
And the sun is at its hottest?
Big and small ships run amok
With no help in sight to right them.
A mother dies, and then what happens?
Her brood of adult children clash
And there’s nothing to do about it;
Except, pivot and wait for the turbulence to right them.
***
I believe that if you enjoyed this poem, you’d also like this one: The Smell of Home is Etched In Memory. Both poems reference Mother, who is/was The Lighthouse in this one.
THANK YOU FOR READING
I Wish You Miracles
I’m a simple woman who dares to see the beauty in ordinary. I’d love to connect with you and like pen pals, I want something beautiful to blossom between us. Will you join me? Selma is my middle name. Its meaning—peaceful, complete, are euphoric affirmations I like to think of myself as having. They compliment the joy I feel when I write. I sincerely hope you decide to join me on my writing journey. I Wish You Miracles.
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This is a beautiful poem. Our Mothers are the light of our home. You’re quite the talent, Selma.
Diane, you made me grow an inch with that remark. Thanks. I’m into poetry these days — more than usual— and I appreciate your support, sweet friend.
Let me know how I can be of help to you and I’ll be there.
(I’m feeling tons better now).
You, be safe. I wish you miracles.
Beautiful words using in poem. Our mothers are the light of our house ..
Indeed. May we always remember.
Yes, me too .