Poetry

 I'm scared of the nights, The nights that carry darkness, The nights that carry no moonlight, The nights that carry floating dark clouds, The nights that carry weeping souls, The nights that carry pin drop silence, The nights that carry thunderstorms and hurricanes, The nights that carry rage, The nights that carry no dreams, The nights that carry nightmares, The nights that carry terror.                                                                                                                       -crystal

  No,  I'm sensing it. I'm sensing that your magic hands getting wrinkled, The alchemy it had to dissipate.  Those smile lines getting darker, Reminding me that I'm no longer a child, But an adult with a big responsibilities on her shoulder.  Who can no longer play around with you, Who can no longer rot on the couch for a whole day, Who can no longer rely on you for everything,  Who can no longer ask you to pamper her, Who can no longer ask you to feed her with your magic hands, Who can no longer ask you to shower her with all your love. Yet, dear mother, can you assure? No matter how time may obscure,  That I can still ask for your acquaintance? That I can still ask for you to feed me even if I grow old? That you would still pamper me with all your love?  No matter how the years may unfold, That our bond remains forever and ever bold.                                  ...