Family Unity?

by Shadowstalker

Published April 9, 2007

A small child falls and Mother’s there,
To tend a hurt knee with loving care.
She’d dry the tears and hug them tight,
Soon they’d forget their plight.

A small child wakes, crying with fright
And Father’s there, with the light.
He’d comfort and soothe,
Make the bed sheets smooth.

A small child hides, huddles in covers,
Listening as Dads fight with Mothers.
Covered ears, waiting for them to cease
Screaming “Stop fighting, please!”



A small child waits, for Dad to come in,
But Dad’s long gone and Mum’s to thin.
The fights have stopped, the house is quiet
The weeping is loud, yet ever so silent.

A small child want’s a happy ever after,
A house with a Mother and a Father.
Did they care, or was it an act?
Is this a myth, or is it fact?

Comments & reviews · 4
User avatar
Goldenheart
Review
Goldenheart wrote a review Review · Apr 9, 2007

You can really get people to relate to this! Well done. It was sad, and painted a picture of what many children feel, but can't express. Bravo.

The ending was very effective. Ending it with a question is a great idea. It leaves you thinking. Very good.

All the best,

Goldie

User avatar
JustLaugh
Comment
JustLaugh commented Comment · Apr 9, 2007

I agree, i too can relate to this poem some and I do like the rhythm.

ANNABELLE

User avatar
miyaviloves
Review
miyaviloves wrote a review Review · Apr 9, 2007

Aww thats sad :( And i can relate to this, maybe thats why i like it so much. The rhyming works in places such as:

A small child wakes, crying with fright
And Father’s there, with the light.
He’d comfort and soothe,
Make the bed sheets smooth

Its good, but i think maybe you oculd expand it, have a lot more emotion ( i go on about emotion to everyone, i guess i like to really read a poem that involves the reader and really helps them understand what the person is going through)

Well done!

Meevs
x



For a short space of time I remained at the window watching the pallid lightnings that played above Mont Blanc and listening to the rushing of the Arve, which pursued its noise way beneath. The same lulling sounds acted as a lullaby to my too keen sensations; when I placed my head upon my pillow, sleep crept over me; I felt it as it came and blessed the giver of oblivion.
— Mary Shelley, Frankenstein