A poem to my mother

Happy Mother's Day everyone

When I was a senior in high school, I was given a writing assignment by my AP literature teacher. The assignment was to write a poem. Limitations were removed. It could be about anything.

As if through divine influence (or perhaps it was my subconscious reaching out), I sat down during class, and the poem effortlessly bled out of me.

Somehow, I remember the poem verbatim nearly 25 years after I wrote it. It’s a poem about my mom who passed away when I was 10. With Mother’s Day upon us, I woke up this morning inspired to revisit the poem and share it with all of you. I added one more quatrain at the end to bring it up to date, in a sense.

It just so happens that in a few days, I’ll be undergoing another psychedelic-assisted session to help me process the pain and loss I still hold. Writing about this and sharing it with others is part of that process for me. Thank you all for your love and support.

Here it is.

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I awoke one morning, eager to walk. The sun had perforated the trees.

To slanderously pester my Father with talk, and demand justice for his follies.

“WHY?!” I cried, for silence was no longer my duty.

Blood was erased, with a lack of grace, from my descendant tree.

The Queen of birth that I once knew, would no longer be smiling at me.

You see, death is rebirth when living in veneer spirituality.

Thus I respect that the end of my Queen had arrived.

Arising from a knelt portrayal of pity, a voyage of shadowed trust

Of that I was deprived.

Alone in a shadowed wood, alone I’d no longer wonder.

Rays of white light were imbibed by my optimistic heart.

As I returned to where I came at sunrise, my life was illuminated

My Queen and Father had given me a new start.

Missing you, 

Andy