Tags » My Child

Just Do the Next Thing. 

Being a divorced, single parent is just the weirdest thing.

There are a lot of weird things in life. Some things only have felt weird to me for a season–like becoming a parent. 754 more words

My Child

then my be by is in

“You then, my child, be strengthened by the grace that is in Christ Jesus”

frame 

The nurse came and took me back to the ultrasound room. Walking in there was fatal. Immediately I felt chills. I was visualizing the father standing there next to me holding my hand. 400 more words

NEW MUSIC: MY CHILD~ MIZTER PRAISE (Ft. EL SAMMY)

ABOUT THE SONG: THE SONG TALKS ABOUT GOD, AND HIS PROMISES TO US HIS
CHILDREN, IT REMINDS US OF WHOM GOD IS

ABOUT MIZTER PRAISE.: Mr praise is a fast rising gospel artist, 34 more words

UNCATEGORIZED

"You are the Second One on my Love List."

I found this letter in Aliana’s backpack during the last week of school:


My first question was, “Who in the heck is Steve?”

My second question was, “What is a love street, and why is he saying that you are the second one on it?” 746 more words

Dating

Dear Aliana

Dear Aliana,

Today you are seven years old. I need to tell you seven things.

1) The reason why I keep telling you to study is because someday you won’t be able to memorize everything, like you do now. 596 more words

My Child

Ten Days To Go

Clocks haven't ticked
since the digital age kicked in
seconds no longer announce their passing
but often over the past fifteen months 
I have heard my body ticking
those moments away

those long, long moments
sixty seconds makes a minute
while sixty minutes makes an eternity
many eternities have since retreated
leaving just thirteen thousand
minutes increasing in speed
until you return home 

fifteen months ago
you entered those gates
a sickly child, a crippled soul
hunched and shuffling, with hooded eyes
downcast, pinned pupils hidden
clothed in filthy ribboned rags
veins flat beneath thin tracks
wrecked body, wrenched soul


somewhere, deep within
a child was struggling to rise
and somehow, in those grey corridors,
behind the barbed metal, the locks and the bars
you found him, and he rose again
growing into a fine man
my beautiful son

only ten days to go
and I will stretch my arms towards you 
as you walk through those prison gates

the clock in my heart has been ticking
while I wrote these badly formed lines
and it's ticked its way down to nine

o                o                o
n                n                n
l                l                l
y                y                y

n                n                n
i                i                i
n                n                n
e                e                e

d                d     
a                a     
a                y     
s                s

t
o 

g
o

© Jane Paterson Basil

Poems