Whenever they would argue,
she kept a nightmare awake,
so when she falls asleep that night,
she prayed that they'd no longer fight—
and she didn't have to be right,
she just wanted her mother
to sleep well that night.
Whenever they would argue
she kept a nightmare awake,
so when the dreams suffocated
and coughed because reality
wasn't close enough or pretty enough
to write down as something
she could tell her kids
as love at first sight—
she held onto the cold sweats
and the tears stop being so blue,
she kept them red.
Wary, wary,
weary, weary heart—
she wore a sweet smile
even if she heard shouting
and she didn't need to wake up to know
that one day—
all of the bad times
will be replaced by good ones.
History has a strange way
to say hello, it greets itself
from past to future
by whispering to the present
that even nightmares,
as terrible as they are,
needs a lullaby to sleep to.
YOU ARE READING
memento mori // poetry
Poetry" remember that you have to die " memento mori - /məˌmɛntəʊ ˈmɔːri/ noun an object kept as a reminder of the inevitability of death, such as a skull
