Lost
Words,
your armor and sword,
your unraveler of mysteries,
your lover’s caress,
your comforter and soapbox
are suddenly empty,
stripped of power,
leaving you
lost
like the child
you always were,
and always will be,
crying, crying
for a mother’s touch.
About this poem.
My mother died Saturday. I have not been able to write for days. And while this is not my finest poem. It is a start, a first step back into the light.
The picture was taken this weekend, while walking with my son along the James River
Tom
Quarry House 
This is absolutely beautiful, Tom. Your poems always seem so relevant to things I happen to be confronting at any given moment, even when your actual subject is so different from what I’m experiencing. You have a real gift. I’m sorry for your loss. If your mother was anything like you, she was undoubtedly a beautiful presence in this world — the kind that never really leaves.
Thank you Krista. I think there is so much commonality in our human experience, that just by sharing, we create those connections, and touch others, whether it be poems, or essays, or humor. That’s why sharing is so important, whether it’s what I do, or what you do – unless we share, we all think we’re alone. And we’re not.
Thank you for shariing your journey into the club of fellow orphans. It doesn’t matter how old we are when our parents pass, our inner child grieves. Irene
Amen to that Iriene. Amen to that.
Tom your poem is beautiful. You are not alone and Jim and I hold you and your family in our thoughts and prayers.
If this past week has reminded me of anything, Eileen, it is that I am not alone. People have been so kind with their hearts. Thanks to you and Jim.