One of my assignments for last term’s writing class was to write a poem about two characters interacting in a situation of conflict. I baulked at this more than a little. I love to write, and I like to think that I’m good at it – but I absolutely suck at poetry. I struggle to read it, and I struggle to write it. Four hours before the midnight deadline, I was trying to figure out what the hell to do with this assignment. At the same time, I was locked in a power struggle with George, who was just refusing to go to bed. Eventually – EVENTUALLY – he went to sleep, and I returned to my dilemma. As I sat there sipping a glass of Merlot, the poem I had been searching for came to me. This is what I wrote…

Beautiful mind, gentle soul
The boy is different, yet strangely whole

He speaks with movement; he talks with his eyes
His spirit is pure; he tells no lies

He seems to be fragile, but has a strong will
Potential, desires and dreams he’ll fulfill

Tonight he won’t consent to be led
His mother cannot get him ready for bed

She coaxes, cajoles and softly convinces
He declines with a sigh, the most regal of princes

A thousands breaths later she lays down her child
By now he is sleepy, so tender and mild

She keeps watch by the bed and watches him sleep
The feeling of love so profound, so deep

(Photo credit: Kirsten Doyle)