By Shelli Sharp
My mother is like the ocean.
Her eyes are the reflection off the water.
Her voice is the wave that beats hard on the sand, destroying unhealthy thoughts and actions, dragging the filth away with her inconspicuous undertow.My mother is like a washcloth.
She absorbs my tears and wrings them out to God at night.
She applies soap that washes the blood from my injured knee.
She polishes my life with her opalescent touch.
My mother is like the wind.
Surrounding my life with love. Whispering sweet nothings that mean everything into my ear.
Cooling off my hot temper from a rage with her breezy voice. Sly and cunning, she sneaks up
unexpected and unnoticed to see my hurts, and leaves in the same manner when all help has
My mother is like an angel.
Performing chores invisibly. Watching and guarding lest I fall. Flying with great speed
wherever I am to help when i need her. Standing erect and proud come what may.
Trustworthy and hushed, humble.
My mother is like a love song.
Singing of sacrifice. Lyrics so pure and sweet and clean. Melody so clear and soft... endless
like my love for her.
My mother is like a lot of things.
But nothing will ever be like my mother.