The Feminine Beauty

 

 

 

            In every child a light

Defying Keats shines, and every

Cradle hides the light, keeps away from those

Beholden by blind deceitful eyes, but

Deeper still,

            The child beneath the baby blues.

 

 

 

            A chalice of strength invokes

A Mothers aspirations an affirmation

Of her soul and back and forth,

The nurture – nature proves

The bond a man can only fumble,

And humbled, the man looks

On in awe as infant grows.

 

 

 

            Tumble down a mountain!

Walk back up again if limbs can steal

The pull, and begin the dereliction.

 

 

 

Duty bound the loyalty forgives,

     Yet fire persists the scalding

And balding, she passed away too

Quick for truths to be exposed.

 

 

 

2.

 

 

            When the child that thieves

The visionary for reality begs upon

The breast, remember the wish,

For clever cries insist upon

     Lactation –

And as the child snuffles

Snuggles closely to the teat,

Puzzled by the need,

     Keep in mind one day a separation,

As the moments goes too soon.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

           Too quickly!

Quick the days pass as

Mother Nature tends her young,

While the womb creates the karmic

Energies for the man to glorify his creed,-

     Yet, inside, the worry grows of

Whom the child will be,

The first five not always kind,

     Not always ‘ours’ to mould.

 

 

 

            Salt tears laden with love

Bless the man for whom nine months;

Tended this woman,

     For nine months lay inside

His mother –

                        Now,

His masculinity not needed,

The child with the baby blues fed

And grown from miniscule of seed,

He returns a simple favour.

    

 

 

            And with these sad lonely

Tears of sacrifice; his self redundant beyond

Conviction,

                        He walks the mountain

Again

            ‘His’ child, ‘His’ wife,

Never far from thought of what

Was once,

            A Glorious Dream.

 

 

 

Michael J Waite