Mom

How do you spell love? I spell it MOM. Never has there been a more special bond than that between mother and son. For the seraphs of Heaven sing no sweeter song than that of hearing your mother's voice. No one is more selfless nor caring or empathetic than my mother.

She is one of those people whom everyone knows they can count on. Friends, colleagues, relatives, it doesn't matter. Not a person in her life she would not help if she could. Since air filled my lungs I knew that was an eternal bond betweeen my mother and me. My brother and I know no woman sweeter than our mother. A woman who deserves the finer things in life but will settle for a poem or a simple bouquet of flowers.

Her love is like a river that has flowed since I was born and will continue till the end of time. All the moments my mother has given my brother and I as a family are too numerous to share. She knows I love her and my brother and I know we're loved simply because she wears it in her eyes when she talks about us or looks at us.

To hate this woman is to reject kindness and love and understanding and warmth itself. to those that have betrayed her were the lowest type of wretch, not suitable to live as a fungi in a petri dish. Why do the birds sing? Because my mother is near. We all love her now and forever.

Happy Mother's Day is fine to say, but I chose to say it in a poem. Little fingers gripping your fingers to a full grown man one thing never changes. The love I have for you, nor you for me.

You have graced us with your time and effort, blessed and emparted wisdom whenever possible. You showed us how to stand in a world that will shift underfoot but will do it with humility and grace and kindness.

Purple and Pink. Your favoritre colors. I think of you when I see or hear these colors mentioned. You give the month of July a special meaning, the month you were born. You are a survivor and a fighter and have the strength to persevere no matter what is thrown at you.

Your resilence could inspire a novel or a screenplay. No movie star shone more brightly than the light and love that burns in your heart like the fieriest of torches. How do you spell love? I spell it MOM. Your hugs are magic. your presence can lift the darkest clouds and make the flowers bloom in the garden of my soul.

Does love exist? It springs fourth from my mother like a fountain. She loved and still loves her mother, whom most assuredly watches from that skyward place that starts with H. What can I declare but my love and devotion to the woman who birthed me?

I would love to give her a pink cadilac, as Elvis gave his mother or furs or all the finest jewels in India. But all I can give her is my love and devotion, and this poem. words upon the page may not sound like much, but through this thing we call language, coming from her son, it's worth all the gold and jewels in India.

Courage is what I have. Courage to write and try and succeed and fail but to get back up and try again, why? Because my mother birthed me and gave me the confidence to do so. Thank you mom. I love you.