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Sad Poems: Morbid

Sad Poems: Pen and Ink

 
Ghoulish anti-hero.
Lust created lush.
Feet are bare except stiletto heels.
She teeters on her topsy-turvy stool.
Half spent martini trips her up again. 
 
Neither child nor mother could cut the cord.
They`re tangled, tied up as she ties one on 
Her labor lingers for a decade plus eight. 
Roped and bound to the child she looked to for mothering,
corded to the blank slate, 
the empty page that still awaits her wisdom.
 
Child`s head is overcome with questions, 
page begs filling. 
She`s baited for fishtales
Ears are canyons,
echo with opportunities lost
on life`s hard lessons,
the daily ones 
that were never taught her.
 
The kid learned the hard way
The blows could have been cushioned or cradled
by mama`s arms. 
Instead she grew numb beyond pain,
and strung out on life`s confusions,
made no conclusions 
about what a woman or man should be.
While mama presented extreme examples
in her fishnet covered legs and tatted arms
daddy provided nothing at all. 
 
Mama reached instead
for her child`s soft support,
a balance she so often needed.
That cord grew sinewy and knotted,
providing a lifeline for mother 
more often than child.
Who was raising whom?
 
The family resemblance is striking
When the disease strikes it spares no one
But who is the host?
And who is the feeder?

Sad poems by: Lynn Ciesielski

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