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Mothers By Lillian Sears Moving through the troubles of life, and being strong, even when all she wants to do is give up, for the sake of her children. Outstanding courage to face the troubles of raising an obstinate child like me. Mediator, mother’s are always there to cool down a fight between siblings. She is the peacemaker. Thinker, my mother always has great ideas on what can be done to either solve a problem, or just something outstandingly creative. Hardworking, mothers work hard to make sure that their children are well cared for and that their children grow up to the best that they can be. They also work hard around the ho

Summer’s love by Lillian Sears We were eighteen. that warm summer night, not a cloud in my eyesight, watching the stars tonight, laying by your side. catching fire flies, time goes by, we are eighty. the night turns to day, your light passes away, blue skies turn to gray, its winter again, the pain as cold as the snow, I miss you so. that summer is gone, although your memory lives on.

Poetic verse does not sleep contently within your bones. You are not made of Shakespearean sonnets. Metaphors do not cling to your teeth like snowdrops, and similes do not lurk like assassins behind those false psychic eyes. Your veins bleed nothing but red. And your whispers, they will never leave galaxies along the length of spines. So, Dear Heart, you can take your stars, your full moon romances, the many, desperate love letters, the gag-worthy cliches- and eat them.

I don't fool myself with romance, darling : I have loved you for days upon days and nights upon nights; I have seen you with eyes blazing and your wildfire words aimed all at me; I have watched you walk away     and I have watched you run; I have been brave enough to ask if I was someone you could love,     and I have been brave enough to ask     if I was the only one - I have fought you and I have fought for you, and I have fallen prey to the way you kiss me,     to the way you say you miss me - darling : this was never romance, this was morning breath and midnight poetry; this was falling asleep in the middle of a phone call, this