The Little Red Book

Dinner is cooking books open at the table, And you look to the eyes and they concede confusion, Turn the temp down and pull up a chair, "So what part is most difficult?" Your alone in the home when it starts and so he rushes, To finish before anyone sees he needed the help, He looks to you as a point of shame to hide from, Bu the truth is he sees you as more than a cook. You are the teacher. Dinner is on dishes need doing, homework still working, But you move to check and the keys turns in the door, Pen goes down and the books close. The student runs outside, Work half finished. "Hows dinner?" How was dinner? Dinner was cooked, the house tidy, Now time to open the books and do the homework, Confusion is a luxury for the fortunate, solutions are worked for. "Dinner is done, dishes are clean. Doing my homework mum."

True love is in the blood and burns like fire, As with each second of breath the heart sparks, And the flame of love is ignited sending heat from head to toe, The first true love is in family, in the eyes and breath of mother. Like any other fire it spreads. Warming everything. When I put my strength to use my heart wanes, As it seems that with every attempt to warm myself, Leads to cold burns. Today, I feel week, broken, When some things in life should not be given up on, There comes a time to close the door. In life I have always felt as though I followed, The party moved forward at a pace, I could not gain, But I found the answer. I turned. Found another path, I no longer follow, I don't even lead, I walk alone, This path is peaceful,  it is humble, it is true. I walk tall.