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 Category:  Biographical Poetry
  Posted: May 17, 2017      Views: 153

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I came to Fan Story to work on my writing. I am learning so much from my fellow Fan Storians. I am now writing my second book. I am applying all that I am learning here in Fan Story.

My first book, "Is There Brilliance In Resilience?" i - more...

Portfolio | Become A Fan
This work has reached the exceptional level
If only I could do it all again, it would be so different
"Mother Song" by Asem.inspirations
When bad decision replaced my religion
and disgrace and distaste replaced my faith,
surely mother thought, "What a waste,"
though did not erase my displace, the chase or haste.
Her disapproval was her usual way to display
that I was unforgiven,
for living a life that was not right
or in light of her,
my mother.

the very reason for being
other than God himself,
seasoned by dad,
but had by mother.

no other exactly like her,
with her copper tone and high cheek bones,
her slender nose and I suppose
those were only some of the
beautiful things I admired about my mother.

Her beauty could grace any front page
or cover of a fashion magazine.
I esteemed her clean fresh looks
but took nothing really from her looks.
Her sophistication was a major motivation
for me to be more like her.

I preferred to be
more like my mother.

But unfairly,
I barely got to spend special time with mother.
We never seemed to share that special care
she did not seem to spare in giving to the others.
Eight daughters became eight women
and as one of them,
who did not savor the favor
because I never really felt I was a favorite.
The way I really dealt with it
was to exhibit somewhat of a traitor behavior.
The way I behaved was opposed
to the way I was raised
and this did not gain my mother's praise.

But in those days,
I hear she prayed so severely to secure me.
I guess I was the rebel who repelled
her needs to reach me.
I did know though
she came to seek me more than twice
and to know that felt nice,
but then...

All that was already wrong with my mother's song
went more wrong when Breast Cancer came
and became her private dancer.
It took romance and chance and danced
right out our doors,
and shot shock, shook our rock
and put a lock on our hearts and our lives
so that our drive died away with mother.

But while she was dying I was really trying
to be there and I was,
but by her side she did decide
to exclude me and not to include me
in her last real talk with the team,
my sisters...
how mean that seemed.
I was put out and left about,
sitting alone in our family home
with my and their children
and the conclusion was that
my sisters got to tell me what she said.
This happened twice and both times
at her death bed and both times I begged
and right away I felt my heart go dead
and although my heart screamed
no one seemed to hear a sound
and I found there was no resolve around.
No one heard me plead
and no one heard my heart bleed.
My tears became a puddle breeding need.

We were so occupied with that mom died,
that we never spoke about it
and I dared not say a word,
because maybe it was the treatment I deserved.
I just could not live my life still so disturbed.

being helpless, selfish and worthless,
I broke my mother's heart,
knowing from the start
she was a good mother.
I was hanging on to things long gone
like anger thought laid across a hanger,
I hung up with stuff I could not get rid of
and forbid mother, who was not perfect
to work with my issues.

With no assurance of my endurance,
and forgiveness not made my business,
I moved along creating all the wrong in my mother Song.
I lived my young, adult years blaming and shaming my mother.
But when I became a mother I discovered
that even with hurt still at work,
life the vicious cycle recycled
all the same pain, blame and shame and I gained
that same from my own son and then some.

I learned,
we give what we get
but if we don't forgive and forget
we would get what we give and yet
we would live to regret all the upset
we caused in our lives then we can expect
that disappointment would only be an ointment
to a lonely reality.

I regret that I upset my mother
I regret that I upset my son.
How I do regret that I lost both of them!
Then I realized that in my being a mother of five,
that my mother, a mother of nine,
could not split her time so easily.
She did her best and I guess,
I learned too late and to this date,
I ate my own hate.

My mother,
a lover of Jehovah.
she cherished bible truths and taught them
to all of us during our youth,
and all through our lives while living in her home.
So even though my heart did roam,
I now own these bible truths,
and I teach them to my own youths.

My mother,
she believed in God's protection,
his promise of perfection,
and in the earthly resurrection.
I pray that I will be of God's selection
to see my loved ones again,
and to welcome them back,
to visualize with my own eyes
my mother's surprise to see me there.
I would not dare to miss this opportunity,
so soon to be an eternal reality,
to be...eternally again with
my mother,
where I can finally tell her
just how much I truly love her.

For oh...
how I do and did really love
my mother...

Poem of the Month contest entry


Author Notes
Sometimes in life we abuse the free will that God gave to us. I was taught to live by the scriptures and I studied the bible for many years as a young girl. One of the main scriptures that I forgot to take seriously was in 1 Corinthians 15:33 - Do not be misled bad associations spoil useful habits. This is so true because the people I chose to hang out with or to make a part of my life were involved in such extremely criminal and worldly ways. All of my good upbringing and teachings fell to the way side.

The man that I married was raised in the same faith but he did not embrace it at all and he was certainly bad association. I ended up in a way of life with him that I knew did not please God and it certainly did not please my parents.

The relationship that was already not a really close one between me and my mother only got worse as she began to ask me questions as I simply lied to her, instead of telling her what she could clearly see already. I gave up my life of service to God and I climbed over that fence where I thought the grass was always greener but I found out the hard way that the grass was only imitation grass and so was all of the other things in the life that I chose. I found myself in so many situations in which God had to yank me out of and make me realize that he never left me but I was the one who left him. I was that prodigal child.

By the time I realized that I was wasting my time being materialistic, greedy, mean, violent and extremely worldly, in other words, was too late, my mother was diagnosed with Breast Cancer and she was dying quickly. I spent that last six months of her life trying to be there with her but she was in so much pain that most of the time she could not deal with me. I guess she was still angry with me and that anger mixed in with the anger of that pain was too much for her to bear.

I just faded into the background as I heard her say that she did not want me there. I tried to never blame her for saying those words and for letting me hear them.

We all learn from our mistakes in life sometimes the lessons are more painful than they ever need to be. We must use our free will properly to make the right decisions in life. God did not leave anything out in his word and if we don't understand then we can certainly pray for knowledge, truth and understanding.

My Aunt Barbara followed me that day to the lobby of that hospital and she took me to dinner. She talked to me for hours and gave me the most loving words that could have only come from God. Her words gave me the strength to get my life together and to stay strong, not to hate anyone but especially not my mother.

I learned above all to give God back the love he kept showing me, love him with my whole heart, my whole mind and my whole soul. Also be a good mother to my own children, no matter what, be forgiving, be genuine and there for my family and to love my neighbors...

No matter what! No matter what!

Pays one point and 2 member cents.

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