10-28-2013, 11:12 AM
I've been writing poetry for about two months and I hope participating in this forum regularly will help me improve 
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A Child's Proof
The water trickled into my cupped palms
and I yell for mother
eager to show her the little pools;
this is for you mama.
My love is like a lake mama,
rejecting the fragile constructs of the solid world,
deep and clear and able to form any shape under the sun
Cleopatra bathed in the water from my palms,
the water that flowed in the veins of Judas.
Love, grey and pure.
By the time I find Mother,
my hands are empty.
She wipes my love off the hardwood floor.
.---
A Child's Proof
The water trickled into my cupped palms
and I yell for mother
eager to show her the little pools;
this is for you mama.
My love is like a lake mama,
rejecting the fragile constructs of the solid world,
deep and clear and able to form any shape under the sun
Cleopatra bathed in the water from my palms,
the water that flowed in the veins of Judas.
Love, grey and pure.
By the time I find Mother,
my hands are empty.
She wipes my love off the hardwood floor.