StillCondensation pools and collects,Dripping down my windowpane.It leaves light streaks,Forming dry riverbeds of glass.I watch a slow drop run its courseFrom gutter to windowsill.All is still.
A MotherWhat is a Mother but a caregiver?A mother isBoth friend and foeBoth mystery and unhiddenBoth free and forbiddenMaking endless sacrifices.A mother is all these things.But a mom is more.A mom isA gift, a treasure to be heldIn the highest place of heartTo be cherished and rememberedEven at the end of daysShe is worth the effortAnd worth the troubleAnd worth every heartacheThat comes from being her child.You are more than a mother.You are my mom.
Is This Hell?Dark around me. Screams. Cries of anger and pain. I don't know who I am. I'm here, but... Where is here? The darkness creeps around me. I stub my toe on something fleshy, and I hear something scuttle across the floor.What's going on? I feel a rush of air past my ear, and then it's gone. I shake my head. Where am I, who am I? I repeat these questions in my head, over and over. I hear a deep booming laugh and the crackle of a distant fire while some screams grow louder, then die out.I sink to the floor, and in my mind, I can visualize nothing but Hell. That must be where I am. The darkness encircles further and I huddle into myself, waiting for this nightmare to be over. But nothing happens.I hear footsteps. What is that? They shuffle slowly. I still can't see anything. They get closer, until they're right next to me. I whimper as I feel a breath of hot air next to my ear. I feel a frail hand grip my shoulder with surprising strength, and I suck in my breath as the floor beneath me gi