When stress comes to call.

When stress comes to call
In the form of one more child,
wayward and needy in her fiery intensity,
Does her mother lose her creativity?
Or can she still dream? Still write? Amongst the chaos?

If a child comes a calling
A catalyst for all’s falling
Will her mother wither and die?
Will the leaves on the branches turn crisp brown in summer?
Will the grass freeze over on the hottest day of the year?

Can the muse still be accessed?
Can the faery still dance?
Is her love as sharp and healing as it was before the burden?
A wilful child,
One who flouts rules
Will dance to her own tune,
For her there is no society.

A zig zag of feng shui surrounds the girl,
Masked by the face of an angel.
Young boys line up as food for her soul,
Selling their life’s blood to the devil’s daughter.

Will the mother survive?
Can she still laugh?
Can she dance on the digital,
Embracing love’s calling through divinity?

Will the higher self still prevail through all
During a week of overload?
Can the secret still work if mother is pulled
Down the echelons of vibratory existence so low?

It can be done but will be a fight for even the
Sweetest soul has salty tears ready to fall.
Even the most balanced can topple no matter what
They are made of.

Let us try one more time says the Lord to the mother,
For I will be with you to hold your hand.
She is your child, she is your baby and you can
Whether the storm like the mustang in the monsoon.

Your scythe is heavy yet the strength is within you
To cut the tangled reeds before you and make clear you path.
Find your way, follow your calling and live to see another day dawn
For the brightness of the sun is not to be missed
The love of your life is waiting to be kissed
You can go on, you will go on.
It’s only two more days,
So walk tall, walk proud and do not cringe
For surely you will hear a thousand fold yet
The shrill cries of ‘mum, mum, mum.’