Sonnet Son

Curling, swirling curls sit atop his head.
Dew drops shimmer in his golden sun curls.
The young boy sits patiently for his mom.
Years have passed by and he has seen her none.
Ashes litter the ground of war and rage.
He feels his mother is no longer here.
All alone on the ash littered streets lays
The boy who's mother is no more and which
Dew drops sit upon his golden, swirling
Curls that sit silently atop his young
Head, which dreams of his old life before the
War and rage, that took his mom from his
Grasp. with eyes of silver and heart of plague
He lets go of rage and runs to his mom.

Poem Rating:
Click To Rate This Poem!

Continue Rating Poems

Share This Poem