Mother
`
Brawl-
writing on the brick wall;
no one left standing...
a lack of pulse.
Where is the beat
of those that listen?
Shut-
slams the front door,
not to open again;
no mop of hair,
no laid back gait.
Where is sleep tonight?
Life-
worth little in strife;
no tears, no smiles:
each day will torture.
What remains
when night falls once more?
`
poem by Frederick Kesner
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
