Mother’s Little Oak
Little Oak awaits his Lord’s warmth,
Tethered to his favourite bed post.
Mother sips her glass of blood juice,
Great Oak’s love observed his cheek most.
Found a place amongst mere halflings,
Packed in rooms filled out thirty strong.
Thirst like cotton in a desert,
Does anyone know right from wrong?
On the cusp of virgin freedoms,
Traverse universes unknown.
Basking in what we may become,
Our growth and opinions sewn.
Hearts yearn for passions requited,
Eyes connect glaciers to souls.
Wishes and dreams granted and achieved,
Caress my cherry blossom whole.
Confined to boxes day and night,
Turning cogs for uncaged lions.
Feign loyalty for tiny feet,
Purchase moments of reliance.
Rising early to greet my lord,
Clinging to my once youthful words.
Mother speaks of Great Oaks passing,
No more tears were shed, only heard.
Tiny feet run amok once more,
Running relentlessly faster.
Trapped within Mother hen’s cracked shell,
Lullabies are all I muster.
Every story comes to an end,
They all say with such confidence.
Tethered to his favourite bed post,
Little Oak cries out in silence.
-Jamkayyos
Posted Oct 27, 2022, 8:37 PM UTC · edited