by Pat Robinson
A poem expressing the concern of raising children while also feeling inadequate.
|Tiny hands, tiny feet, enormous hearts,
They peer as though I am their God.
They sit and observe my every move,
Mimicking their favorites and dismissing the rest.
They watch carefully, listen with intensity,
Wait for me to do or say something incredible,
But everything is incredible to them,
For I am their model.
They mold and contort themselves,
Breaking their minds to become me,
All because they look up to me.
Their faces glowing with wonder.
I wonder how far this will go.
Will it extend to my death?
Will they forever bear this resemblance?
Perhaps one day they will run dry,
Leaving behind the persistence they once held.
They will decide against my personality,
Bringing about souls of their own.
One shall hold great wisdom,
Making decisions way beyond anyone’s comprehension
The other shall hold great intelligence,
Spewing facts that put all other theories to shame.
Or maybe, both of them will hold great qualities.
Maybe they will both be the greatest beings,
Modelling themselves against me,
Learning from my own mistakes.
Regardless of the outcome,
These children of mine will prosper.
They shall carry the least on their shoulders,
Simultaneously aiding others in ridding of their own burdens,
And I will watch them with pride.
The future is bright,
And they are flames that shall ignite brilliant chains of greatness.