My mother wrote a poem called "Trinkets" on her blog. Check it out: www.myspacebetweenmyears.blogspot.com. In response to that poem, I'm going to write a poem of the same name. It shall be short. It also turned out longer then I expected.
The box remains closed,
Yet with shaking hands it is opened,
And inside she places three things,
Hope, faith, and dreams.
Never let them be broken,
For they are my trinkets,
Her whispered words say.
And as she rids herself of the past,
The future dawns anew,
And with love and tears,
She gives it her all,
For no matter the misery,
The self-hate given to denial,
And regret, and unable to show his love,
She will always show what he never could.
And now I'm going to post another poem.