Relief

April 25, Napowrimo 2026. Our prompt today – to write a poem in which we use at least three metaphors for a single thing, include an exclamation, ruminate on the definition of a word, and come back in the closing line to the image or idea with which you opened the poem.

Mother, please tell me…

Must relief only lie,
In the plucking out of my own blue eyes,
And the burning of all my senses?

Would not seeing the oak of my childhood,
Shrivel, dissolve and shrink from sight,
Be worth my blindness?

Would not hearing my weathervane’s words,
Waffle, ramble and repeat and repeat,
Be worth my deafness?

Would not feeling the proud walls of my castle,
Crumbling into a crippling abys,
Be a price worth paying?

No, no such relief can exist!
Nor would I pay respite’s fee,
As I cling to every moment,
In the hope of there being one more.

Love you mother.

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