A Mother
By Olivia Sykes Warm hands Fingerprints that hold memories of touches and gentle caresses Cracked lips From countless tender kisses on warm foreheads Tired eyes Countless arguments and worrisome glances Young souls become old Storyteller Tales of beautiful girls in satin garments Strong princes in bound leather boots that mount steeds of glory Wanting to be that story Simply due to the passion in that hoarse voice The voice that is hoarse because of passion Protector How much to let go How much to keep hidden In a world where curiosity hurts so many Yet a lack of desire to know kills imagination Fingers Cold and calloused A gentle touch so soft it heals Creased lines in a face Streaks of gray tones in dark spider web hair None of it taking away from youth or beauty Spectacular Objects of grace and beauty Come with age Age that grows each second Each second creates a new moment A perfectly preserved capture of time That those lines and grays have loved Where they have existed in a person who adores so fiercely Beauty is not defined by physicality Laughter Not melodious or song-bird in nature Deep and surprising Chocolate The fresh scent of muffins out of a recently used oven Lavender A candle burning by a bedside table Soap used to wash the well worn hands A book A story about a faraway place Tucked up in a warm fortress of blankets Arms that express more emotion in one instant Then can be written in thousands of words and phrases in a lifetime 30 seconds to change a mind A mother Valentine's Day isn't actually happy for a lot of people. What do you do if you're single? The pressure to buy a good gift or to make a wonderful and elaborate night to remember. And what kind of chocolate do you even buy? Do you waste your money on expensive gifts or do something else with it? I don't even know where to buy flowers. See it's tough. Oh and the Valentine's Day massacre. Yep that's always fun. So I decided to write this for my mom. You know, even though all that stuff makes it not my favourite holiday, I still made an effort. Enjoy. Olivia xx Ps. Sorry if you've already seen this too, and yeah I do know it's no longer February 14.
3 Comments
A Streetlamp
by Olivia Sykes December The air is cool and full of cigarette smoke A cough rises from the throat of an old woman The tap of her cane on the street’s cobblestones Muffled by the damp snow It’s evening People passing Crunching of boots in slush and snow Fallen the night before The click of a busy man’s lighter is heard Click click The ball of fire light turns on and off Chests heavy with a day's work Rise and fall with each cold intake of breath Rising, falling The gaze of a young woman is averted to the ground Passers-by are too busy to notice her tear-stained cheeks Too preoccupied to ask why she has no coat Streets are somber Silent The only voices heard are whispers in the winter wind A man walks past a street lamp Such a hurry No destination Eyes so clear Like ice sheets glazed with melting snow It turns on and illuminates the darkness of the paved sidewalk Click click The light turns on and off Dark seconds between its flickering Window sills full of solemn shadows Stars absent from the mourning sky Darkness thicker than blood Footsteps snuffed out by the snow are seldom heard The scutter of a shop owner dashes quickly into the night Click click The lamp turns off The bulb burnt out No one tries to relight it Most people have probably already read this... I'll post it anyways. |
AuthorHey I'm Olivia check out the other pages for some more information! Archives
February 2017
Categories |