Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
I send my roots into the earth,
accepting the sacred duty.
The gentle, yielding, firm,
and fertile ground of the mother.
I will water her.
I will protect her.
I accept responsibility
for this ground.
I yield to this process.
Enveloped by life. By time.
I yield to the watching.
I accept what it brings.
I choose to love
what comes before me,
so that what blooms
when I wither away,
may always be love.
Eyes are all puffy
Hair is disheveled
Tears in gelato
Make it much sweeter

The heart thumps loudly
Each cell 100 pounds
The distance from you
Increases the force

When I lie awake
And wish for you near
You are closer than
If I see you daily

Yearning for the zenith
Brings so much pleasure
What is left to want
When the end does come?
Life is a beautiful mess. Half of the suffering is in the desire for something more, something else, something better. Half of the suffering is in getting exactly what you want.
You painted shadows, on my mental wall,
A darkened hallway, where I fear to crawl.
Each creaking sound, a phantom in the night,
A whispered threat, steals my inner light.
I walk on eggshells, fearing every tread,
The anxious path, your presence has instead.
The year Rose turned sixteen,
I was lost in the haze of my own life,
unaware of the world unfolding around me.
I saw her grow taller, her voice deepen,
but I failed to see the woman she was becoming.

With Daisy, at sixteen,
a whirlwind of energy and passion erupted –
a force of nature I couldn't contain or calm.
I saw her dreams taking flight,
but words of encouragement stuck in my throat.

Laurel, at sixteen,
was a quiet observer, a deep thinker –
intelligence and sensitivity shone bright.
Yet, I struggled to connect on her level,
to speak the language of her gentle heart.

And Lilly, sixteen –
a mirror image of her mother, Maggie's beauty –
reminded me of love I'd once held close.
I saw potential blooming, heart full of pride,
but past regrets silenced my voice.

As years passed, daughters blossomed –
each unique petal unfolding –
I witnessed accomplishments, struggles, and strength.
But pride and love remained unspoken –
hidden beneath fear of emotional reckoning.

Now, as life fades, I confront
missed years, words left unspoken,
love I failed to show – heavy regrets weigh.
Can Maggie and our daughters forgive
the father I should have been, the love I withheld?

To Maggie, My Love
In dying light, my heart sees clearly –
your patience, devotion, and gentle soul.
You nurtured our daughters through my haze,
loved them – and me – without condition.

Forgive my silence, my absent heart –
yours was the love that kept our family whole.
Take care of our girls, and know you were
my forever love – the one I should have held closer.
Author's Note:
"'The Year of Missed Opportunities'
A heartfelt exploration of paternal love and regret –
life's reflections on the beauty of imperfect relationships,
where all parents inevitably ponder life, love, and missed moments.
Inspired by my own musings and 'The Year I Turned Sixteen' series by Diane Schwemm"
I run, desperately
a constant motion
almost as if I’m
chained to a treadmill

Yet I look around
and others run too
are they following me?
Or am I them

How I wonder
What is this thing
We are running from?

Perhaps it’s boredom
the silence
The terror of being alone

Not knowing
We are at the edge of serenity
But it slips further
The faster we go
Next page