Your Son My Son

by Catherine Prater

Just eighteen,
Still green,
and they want me to be
(A Killing Machine)
Every boo boo I have gotten
Mama kissed it away,
and She always would say,
"Baby it's going to be okay"
Slept every night in my own bed.
Up until twelve I was kissed on the head,
Good-night, sleep-tight, don't let the bed-bugs bite. 
woke up from a bad dream, 
Hop in bed between Mom and Dad
Wake up with the sunrise,
and sleep in my eyes,
Wondering how did I get back in my own bed,
the only complex decision I ever made,
was picking a college that suit my grade,
Still wondering about (Girls)
and, How it would feel 
visit the land of Ecstasy.
Now I am in the land of no return,
Watching a Bomb coming straight at Me!

Your Son My Son by Catherine Prater

© Copyright 2004. All rights reserved. No portion of this work may be duplicated or copied without the expressed written consent of the author.

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