A Mother’s Heart is a Strange Thing

A guest post from Marcia Miral.

Image: Pixabay

A mother’s heart
is a strange thing.

It holds a newborn in its arms,
and it comes close to bursting
from all the love it discovers it can hold.

The newborn grows,
tentatively exerts its limbs,
and finds out that they are frail.
The mother’s heart
comes close to bursting, again,
from all the fear it wants to go away.

The child grows some more.
He explores his world,
and finds out he can be a winner
if he works at it with all his might.
The mother’s heart
comes close to bursting, again,
from all the pride it wants to keep.

The child becomes a man, too soon,
and he painfully comes face to face
with fiends in the guise of friends.
And his world falls apart.
The mother’s heart
comes close to bursting, again,
from all the faith and hope it wants to stay.

Ah, all that a mother’s heart can hold:
love, fear, pride, faith, hope.
How can it not ever burst?
How can it just live and throb, on and on?

A mother’s heart
is a strange thing.


Originally published at Imperfectly Living A Dream. Republished with permission.

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