Wednesday, December 3, 2014

Of A Mother's Heart





A mother’s heart is filled with words
That ink can never form
An ocean tossed, a cradle, soft
A pillar in love’s storm

A mother’s heart is full of art
That brush could never read
A corridor of sacred scars
Where rawest splendors bleed

A mother’s heart is squeezed and torn
Where hands can never reach
It bows low-small yet stands full-tall
Where love must learn and teach

A mother’s heart is flesh and blood
And yet a longing stair
Up to the One who hears the groan
Where love is stripped and bare

A mother’s heart is soft as silk
Yet firm, unshakeable
Methinks a mother’s heart must be
A sort of miracle

© Janet Martin

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