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Witness of your mother, who stumbled through her
pyrite paths, you raised yourself
At the zealous brink of her chemical haze

Before you were five
the water swallowed you up
They fished you out
pumped feral oxygen
through you

Disease wove a second time
around the smoke they smeared over your
hardened lungs

You, grown, now had
the last sweetened brush of
infant palms, curve of a smile
from a little life you thought you would raise
passed to new arms

With the pacific
still trapped in the twirls of your eyes,
veiling a tidal wrath

every titan still imprisoned
below the sea
not a drop trails out.

You then decided
air was not
what fueled you.

perhaps water
was a better constant, to
breathe something in which

others merely taste.

Style / type: 
Free verse
Review Request (Intensity): 
Please use care (this is a sensitive subject for me, do not critique harshly)
Editing stage: 


not to talk about an epigram, which this entire piece conglomerates, great job

I loved this write as it portrays the pure feelings of someone for another, I see the sea and have seen it when it is angry, we can only know that the love we have given is that of a Mother for her child.
Take care and know we think of you, Yours Ian

Give critique to help keep Neopoet great.
Unconditional love to you all.
"Learn to love yourself first"
Yours as always, Ian.T, Sparrow, and Yenti

this work is intricate and beautiful
a depth of feeling and vision perspective
that is always in your poetry and writes

i always take in a breath when reading
the poems you create
there are vivid and subtle scenes that
are just powerful

in works and in the world

it is a very emotive peice
I am glad i got to use another machine
to get on today and read through
and find this....

you always make me think beyond
words...I think for some its a gift...

Thank You Whitetea..

It's too late now to thank him
as somewhere he must be soaring
in the wilderness of time
near eternity

at times I often feel
we must attend to chores instantly
but then time tells us
wait and see
may it not yet be really

But alas none know
what is in store
beyond a wink
and just no more

Good poem, whitetea. I'd only shorten up some lines, as at times it seems too wordy. I love the central idea, it's tender and makes one go into a reverie about the elements, life and love.

"My soul is painted like the wings of butterflies; fairy tales of yesterday will grow but never die, I can fly, my friends.” – Freddie Mercury

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