The Vase

Poem By: Cam (Mommy’s little Squid)

My Mother, like a vase.
Holding a bouquet of flowers, that nurtures their growth.
Until the flowers wilt, and meticulously thrown into the void of space.
I’m not sure if my mother ever took the Hippocratic Oath,
But whatever she did to us kids wasn’t ever on purpose.

Much like the vase’s innocence,
Its incapable of releasing the water already inside it.
My mother, did everything she could to embrace us,
Like the flowers in the vase, it was a trap, cave, or pit.
Someone that gave all her love to the point of death.
And in return we were all left alone.

Like the Vase, my mother, is innocent.
There was never any wrongdoing, or misplacement.
Only that she was given five of us children,
And minimum wage to help support us.
Like the vase, we were flowers stuck in a circular path,
Without much room to let our roots grow and cast.

A motionless object,
Stuck on the table that “god” gave us.
We are all destined for death,
My mother was the one who prolonged us.
With her focus on our positive attributes,
We learned that we would wilt and die,
But with each new petal there was always beauty in this life.

Much like the Vase that holds its bouquet,
My mother was the one to help raise us,
Bound together fighting for our life,
Through each struggle and destructive strife,
My mother continued to replenish our wounds.

Despite the attempt,
It was futile as we are all born with cut roots.  

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