LISELLE POWDER

 

The Outcast

 

My frame is old and warned. I can’t hold up myself again.

I tried to smile, but my broken dentures are pained.

I am an outcast that was left abandoned, no family or friends.

Only the rodents and ants bring news of trespassers,

longing for sleep, it’s weighing heavy on my head,

as the dark clouds get ready to unleash its fury on me.

I can’t walk, as society made me believe I am nothing.

I feel naked and cold at nights, as longing for a mother’s

touch of comforting hands, a warm blanket and

bedtime stories. She birthed me with love and

a strong foundation, where everyone was welcomed

with hugs and kisses. I looked out into the

distance as the wind swept the dust and the leaves,

as if trying to let me shine once again.

I remember seeing the heartbeat of the pumps

and the last breath it took, as it shed its last tear.

I cried myself to sleep, because I knew it’s the end.

The dried grass, all scorched and withered was my

audience of friends, they made me laugh as

they tried to dance from the Spring chilled winds.

I am empty inside, as if someone scooped up the last

scrapings off my plate. My skin is withering daily,

but my colors can still be seen, as the light shines

on my ghostly figure.

As I seek refuge within my shell, my smile will one

day shine bright, but for now I’m awaiting some

holy water to wash away my sins.

To make me whole again, as I fight for salvation.

 

Her Tears Fell On His Grave

 

She misses him, as the tear drops flows.

Every tear is her life as she rekindled memories.

He’s gone but is awaken by her sadness.

He touches her gently; he is a silent night.

She opens her arms as to embrace what was.

She looks out her window, to find her lost.

He answers, as the chill breeze bring perfumed

fragrance, that the tear dropped on

his grave. She remembers.

He welcomed the chance to be reunited,

as the casket opened.

She looked one more time,

as if in the distance, in her mind, in her heart,

one chance of life will come back.

No more time, no more season.

The background music of voices,

support her, crying soul.

Their tears fell on dirt, to carry good news,

as he lay motionless.

He longs for her in spirit, he calls her name,

in spirit, he kisses her in spirit.

She rubs her tears on him, the casket closed.

She rubs her tears on herself, as his spirit

awakens her soul.

 

Mother’s Day

 

Am I praised every day? Indirectly and directly.

The innocent milk that fed and nurtured,

is now dried up just like me?

I walked up and down the stairs,

tired veins that popped.

No, they will not burst.

Mummy have to work.

Mummy have to cook.

Mummy have to sew clothes.

Mummy have to wash.

Mummy have to figure out

how the family eats.

Mummy have to be

a carpenter and an architect.

Happy Mother’s Day Mother,

 you deserve one gift for the

year. Because this is your life.

You don’t have a life, you

belong to the house.

The house owns you.

You, are a slave to

everything the house needs.

That’s just the way it is.

Don’t forget pick up the kids,

And wipe their snotty noes.

One gift? Take it back.

 

LISELLE POWDER