Self Made Poetry 2

The Night Rose

Just a young girl.

Not old enough to even yet figure out where her belonged in this world.

Stability was something she always knew.

Then in a single moment it all went away.

Her mother dead and her father gone somewhere lost in a bottle.

Empty house of all the familiar sounds, now just tormented minds left.

Her pain so deep it ravaged everything.
Leaving her just a shell of who she used to be.

Just a young girl.

Time didn't heal but it made things bearable.

As she grew older, she grew stronger.

No longer sheltered from the worlds evil.

Just bobbing along like a bottle in a river.

Fighting to break the surface for new air to breathe.

Mistakes made and lessons learned.
No one there to be concerned by her actions.

But as with anyone, eventually able to see clearly, it finally dawned on her.

She was alive but living like the dead.
The comfort of her past only memories in her head.

Holding everything barely together with a unraveled thread.

So she started anew.

Moved away and left all those tragic memories behind.

She eventually found love and that too died.

Oh the tears she cried.

Like a river rushing, she cried for the lifetime of her loses.

Then a beautiful thing happen.

She was to have a son.

Her days once again filled with joy.

She poured her heart in everything she had to do.

She worked hard but also found the time to play with her beloved son.

A few years went by and struggles too.

Then came the day she lost her son too.

Part of her died with him that day.

Yes she is still alive, but a mere shadow of what she used to be.

Laughter didn't come anymore, just her tears frequently.

Time once again to tell the tales of the agony her heart knows.

She carries all of this with her everywhere she goes.

Only a few close people know of the pain this world doled out to her.

Yet still she prevails.

Her life once again filled with people she loves and things that bring her smiles.

It took such a long while for her heart and soul to start to heal.

Death and loss a painful reality.

She still carries these losses and pain each and everyday.

Now she sits in her garden paper and pen.

Writing poetry of how it all began.

How the story goes, of the night rose.

--------------------------------------
Do not repost, edit, or copy my poetry. It belongs to me.

Feel free to post your opinion and thoughts on my poem.