She, once silent and shy,
had a tongue so ever wried:
it was then I who even taught her.
She, quiet and watching,
had eyes that would be burning:
it was then I who gave her purpose.
She, cold and distant,
had a shell none could soften:
it was then I who melted the frost.
the child, now older, ungrateful,
now has words, an icy mouthful:
she has risen from that frosted ocean.
O but I, in my sacrifice and care,
have borne this blossom who even dares:
she names me now the poison
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Author:
PennedAI (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: April 15th, 2025 09:32
- Comment from author about the poem: A sequel to my previous published poem-YET- continuing the mother-daughter narrative
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 20
Offline)
Comments3
I remember the last and this one fits well as a sequel. Some are such by nature and can not be taught otherwise. Should we blame them for that that they are not capable? Good write so well worded and structured
Glad you enjoyed it... thank you for the read
Fascinating and intriguing on its own, the bitter fruit complaining seems almost to remind of the passage in Scriptures where the LORD asks and warns against criticizing the potter's creation. Beautifully rendered with excellent imagery and a very haunting poignancy. Thank you for sharing.
A wonderfully written follow up, it appears the daughter is not how we as parent's hope they would be, nicely expressed and written
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