Matriarch

It’s like you’re my mother and my medicine,
crafted from Renaissance stone, absolved of sin.
I’m a Florentine iris, not underwatered in the slightest
I’m hurt right now and to hear you, it’s helping,
I know on the horizon, there’s great things…

So I’m trying to look forward and not backwards,
I aim for the moon, bow pointed skywards.
To be like you is, my greatest wish,
so I’ll behave when I wake in hospital wards,
and I’ll sing songs of my heart with broken chords.

There’s a darkness from which the flowers grow,
in my heart there’s your personal throne.
Your dozing body walks, let it waltz,
and I will awake, I will await your highness
so ill I cannot walk, plagued and I can’t hide it.

My bones quake, knowing my body is broken
the next world holds a kinder destiny, I’m hoping
not a lot of me left, I just lie here while I wait on death
I pray I’ll see you again, that you might visit soon
hoping in the cards, there’s a less blue moon.