When I rhyme in poetry it usually doesn’t turn out too great but here is a recent stab at it.
The mother waits by the phone,
Desperately wanting to hear his voice.
His deep masculine yet still adolescent
tone,
Gone for many months of his own choice.
The flag he wears on his arm,
Waves outside her door.
Causing her to miss his Charm,
And spite Bush’s war.
She takes pills to numb the many pains,
Yet it never wains.
Her heart is beating so she knows she’s alive,
But without hearing from her soldier she takes a dive.
Plummeting into a deep abyss,
She wonders what he might miss;
Maybe a kiss,
Or a his favorite dish?
But she still has that one wish.
Tears flood her room,
Seemingly taking her to a watery tomb.
But childhood memories serve as a preserver,
Keeping her safe from a psychological murder.
The piercing ring of the phone nearby,
Sends a jolt up from her spine.
Pressing it close to her ear,
She says hello and his baritone voice responds with a hi.
Posted by codywb 
