A Mother’s Reflective Rant

​”Never take seriously the Mirror’s image of old, embrace your heart’s reflection, for that’s where your youthfulness resides”. TM

Would like the return of longevity, while confronting the aspects of gravity.

A winning effort shown,

 for reduction in weight.

 Envisioning the youthful years, 

 of my hour’s shape. 

To rely upon a wishing well’s promised truth, 

by drinking hastily, 

from the mystical fountain of youth.

Anxious to rub a lamp, to witness it’s proof, upon releasing a Genie to see if it’s true.

My 1st wish, is earlier wisdom obtained, 

2nd, that every black hair, fought hardest to remain.  

3rd, Hmm, to have kept my sweet sensual voice, upon hollering,

going hoarse,calling after my boys.

In a breeze I use to run up and downstairs, 

great balance, no sprains, loss of breath, or care.

Desire the continued smoothness of my milk bathed skin, free of oils, and creams to conceal and of moistures to rub in.

Definitely, wished upon a few stars, for the sparkle in my mood changing eyes, 

no stress lashes shown whitening, there features or dimming their seductive prize.

Totally would comfort me, 

to have less restroom visits, 

and still wear belts accentuating, my fascinating figure. 

A Flash of life, would never run hot. My grown children, whom I pray for, miraculously stayed tots. 

Be excellent, to close the new gap between my teeth, 

or sleep soundly, 

without insomnia,  babysitting me.

Still have some memories from the tender age of 3, yet forget week to week,

what I wore or prevously had to eat. 

Multi-tasking, and multi-vitamin intake, would remain with ease, 

instead of relying on a daily planner to retrace steps,

to where I laid the keys.

There were times in past, 

I’d state I was bored, 

not appreciating the atmosphere, and times structured order. 

Although in defense of my particularly grand, still youthful life.

I wouldn’t dare ask for another, 

just ranting at the processed journey that occurs, in being a loving, well rounded Motherβ˜†

Poetry By Tamara L Dorsey-Moore

Thinker on the Loose 

Copyright (c) 2016 Reserved purposes intended for Tamara Moore
Ever wonder what happens to the Best?  They just get Better πŸ˜‰


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