Our sons have come to pass us, said the chief. We are left with their ashes and have mourned their departure. Their future was written among the stars and now they rest among them. How far will war like this last?
She had two sons. One she named after her husband who died in the war. One she named after her brother who took care of her in her grief. She loved them both so much, and they became her life. So when they left, as all children do, she lost herself. Lost herself in memories and woke up only to dream of falling asleep. And help if hard to find if you don’t know you’re hurt.
She had two sons. One she named after her husband who died in the war. One she named after her brother who took care of her in her grief. She loved them both, so much, and they became her life. So when they left, as all children do, she lost herself.
Ah Sons and Daughters. I have a longing for a son, but I have a wonderful daughter who I hope will bring me a son by marriage with whom I can connect and love. I can see how proud a mother can be to see a sturdy strong young man that she has brought into this world.
Do I have to. Okay, sons of people who do not watch much sport nor listen to much music probably grow into thoughtful people. Sons of people who watch a lot of sport and listen to a lot of packaged music peobably do not. Don’t you think?
He gave up much in life for his sons – the vacations he used to love taking, the hobbies he was once fond of, the occasional indulgences he used to allow himself before they came along and were willingly granted all claim on his time, money, love and his thoughts. The last thing he gave up for them was the house he had built out of his sweat, tears and lifelong savings which they threw him out of – the sons now older and thankless, the father old and penniless.
Those that are born of a woman and brought into the life of privilege from my eyes. I see those of them that choose lives of ridicule for equality’s sake or for passion.
Her sons stared at her, tears in their blue eyes. She sighed softly, wondering what to tell them. They all knew they were going to burn, burn in a wonderful array of red for their Lord Jesus. So, she said nothing at all.
one of them, the middle child, died as an infant. barely an hour outside the womb he succumbed to some kind of lung infection – cristian was ashamed to admit that he did not recall the exact details. that day and about a week after it were all a blur. what stood out very vividly in his mind was the shock of thick black hair on his son’s tiny head, and how very, frighteningly light he felt during the brief moments cris was allowed to hold him and say goodbye.
the other two both lived to adulthood, but it proved to be a short one. luca enlisted into the air force, where he ascended swiftly through the ranks, until his luck and skill ran out on him at the same time and his plane was shot down over enemy territory. for a brief while, cris had not even been sure they would be able to return the body to him, or what shape it would be in when they did.
marcel, his eldest, was lost long before death ever took him. his behavior turned erratic at around twelve years old; cris, fool that he was, attributed the mood swings, insomnia, anxiety, and isolation to puberty. it wasn’t until marcel was seventeen, when he started hearing voices and seeing things, that he was diagnosed with early-onset schizophrenia. cris kept him close, then. he made sure he took his medication, drove him to therapy himself, convinced him to move into the psychiatric ward full-time and visited him every other day. he liked to think he’d helped, a little. eventually, marcel would take his own life.
not long before he passed on, at around 28, he started seeing visions about luca, who had been buried about three years ago. he said that luca would sit by his side in full uniform, silent, and keep him calm when the other visions or voices (lessened but not eliminated by the medication) drove him to madness. the luca hallucination became the most consistent one, keeping him near-constant company. cris wondered if luca had been there when marcel finally— but there was no point in wondering that, or wondering if the vision of his brother had encouraged him, tried to stop him, or simply stood there and looked on as always, as if nothing unusual were happening.
My sons run across the lawn in bare feet and jeans and shirts that won’t be white when they get back. I roll my eyes at their games, knowing their mother will make me wash those t-shirts while they eat ice cream in front of the TV.
What is it about sons? They run around thinking that they got it right. Every single time. So what if you raised them for decades and brushed their teeth and tweezed out splinters and met their principals. They believe they are perfect. And you, their poor parent, still have so much more to learn.
“There will be no sons for me,” he said, staring out at the sun as it set far across the plains. “No daughters. No laughter of children. The fire of life is a beautiful thing, but it can be a cruel one too. You live completely and fully—but that life dies with you. For all the things you think I will know, all the friends you think I walk with in the world, the simple joy that makes your heart beat will always be a stranger to me.”
All my sons and daughters are beautiful. It breaks my heart sometimes, how beautiful they are. They look in a mirror and don’t see that: they see bad hair and irregular features and pimples but not the beauty I see.
when the rebels launch the raid on the pesidental palace, the sons of the president were all killed when a bomb whent off in the room where they were hiding.
of guns lead to wars of men become another with a woman and the women just beg and cry until we kill or we die and all that’s left are the sons with inheirited guns toting their lives, slowly burning under the sun.
Jacob didn’t want to end things. But he knew he had to. He loved them all very much but he couldn’t stay much longer. Those boys had really been a blessing to him. He loved every moment they shared together. He wished to never forget those boy scouts, ever.
They were little, and they were strong;
once so sweet, and never wrong.
They hid, like blackness, in corners awry,
and just like that, my sons they made me cry.
Sons. I can’t think of anything else but of my father and my grandfather. Both of whom I’m currently missing. My grandfather has long passed on but my father is currently a long ways from where I am. I could call him now I guess but the time difference is an issue. Another thing I need to point out is this is getting a bit further from the actual word…
He wanted someone to teach. He was a professor and his lifelong job was learning and teaching, but lecturing to a class of 300 was never satisfying: no matter how hard you tried someone would always fall asleep. His students said that he looked into their eyes and it was kind-of unnerving, but really when he was lecturing it helped him to imagine he was talking to just one person. Even with his doctoral students, when they left his office after an hour’s discussion, he felt like they were walking out of his life, even if only temporarily.
He wanted a son. He wanted to bring up someone, more than academically. He wanted to bend down and grasp little hands gently, help a little boy off the woodchips on the playground. He wanted to be one kid’s sky.
He didn’t want a wife. This disappointed his mom, but he liked having the space in his apartment to himself. He talked to himself, he could be messy, he could leave his dishes in the sink for later if he suddenly had an idea, write on post-its on the wall with a personal organization scheme he didn’t need to explain to anyone else. Besides, it was so much trouble, he felt, so many hoops to jump through to get children.
So on Saturday Professor Miller went to the orphanage and adopted Tom. On Monday, he brought Tom to class with him, to have him meet all the students in his class. With so many eyes on him, Tom started crying. His dad didn’t know what to do.
I am one of two of my Mother’s sons. The first one died about 12 years ago. I will die soon, too. And the world will go on. I’ve been on this planet for six decades and I can only wonder how much longer I’ll be here. I’ve got a son too. He is one of many sons of that generation. They all shine so brightly.
Sons, and daughters too, but mostly sons, are difficult for mothers to raise. How are they supposed to know anything about growing up and going through puberty? Wet dreams? It has a completely different definition when it comes to the female anatomy.
“I might not have sons but I have three daughters.,”said Shonali. ” And they mean the world to me. Sons might have lived with me in my old age. But daughters care for me everyday. To hell with those who thing sons carry forward your legacy. Daughters are no less.”
sons, not one but two. twins. it was his lover who told him the news, a quick phone call “im pregnant, its twins.” was all she said. he was in shock. it was all too soon. what would his wife think? should he even tell her? of course he shouldnt, but he had to. it wasnt fair to her.
sons of bitches. that is the only sons I’ll ever have or get close to. I guess I was never much of a mother or mom-like. I think I would rather like to have suns as opposed to sons. oh sonny boys the sons. sons. sounds like a Swedish band.
I’m an only child. What would it like, if mom had another son? I wonder if I would share with him all the secrets that I never told my parents, secret loves, secret depressions, secret daydreams. Or would he just be another reminder, of all the things that I never told the people I was close to?
“A toast to my brother and his blushing bride!” Rodrik said as he stood, his voice cutting through the din of the throne room before the crowd hushed, looking towards him expectantly. “May you always be happy. And may this one,” he tilted his head towards me and I swallowed on instinct. “Bless you with many sons!”
I felt my cheeks burn as the cheers rang out, the sickeningly overwhelming tone of their happiness making my stomach turn.
“I don’t know about before but she’s certainly blushing now, ain’t she?!” Lord Stannis my…husbands elder cousin bellowed, followed by hearty laughter all around.
“Leave the poor girl alone, husband,” Rebekah admonished, placing a gentle hand on her husbands arm. “Let’s not frighten the poor girl so soon, yes?”
The woman shot me one last disapproving look, her sons carefully tucked beneath her either arm. She scuttled away, crablike, and soon she was lost in the crowd.
Three sons and a daughter. Many would call that a blessing. The gods had favored him with many male heirs and only a lone, little daughter to sap away his resources, and she never asked for much, anyways. Indeed, Mori admitted he was blessed quite prodigiously, but what is wealth without power?
Ezra Stein, Mori’s ever smiling rival, had five sons and no daughters. Obviously, Ezra was the favorite with the gods and thus the favorite with the people. Whatever he did was right. Whatever he said was holy. Whenever his sparkling eye fell on you, there was no choice, no desire to do anything but submit. If Mori’s ideas contradicted Ezra’s how could they ever gain ground or become realities? His status and opinion would never match that of his charming rival.
Finishing words on parchment is like
bleeding through broken
sons and
trying to show your eyes
throw black ice
and emptying your empty pockets
in front of a beggar
because I’m only a crack
in a sheet of ice
trying to be someone I’m not
and it’s new and familiar
and I just really wish I could finish a poem
and feel who I really am.
A breath of fresh air to hear that small tiny voice say “Momma! Momma!” I am looking forward to those scraped knees, longs nights, tears, and all the many other blessings that will come along with being a mother. My chance will come soon enough! I look forward to it!
“They were our sons,” she screamed “how could you do that send them to be slaughtered! You knew you knew it was a trap! A trick!” she tightened her grip the knife held by her side, hidden. She walked toward him. Before he could stop her she jammed it up under his ribs.
“How could you let them go? How?” she whispered as she lowered him down into the dirt.
“They were our sons.”
They were our sons she screamed how could you do that send them to be slaughtered you knew you knew it was a trap a trick how could you let them go how she whispered
Our sons have come to pass us, said the chief. We are left with their ashes and have mourned their departure. Their future was written among the stars and now they rest among them. How far will war like this last?
She had two sons. One she named after her husband who died in the war. One she named after her brother who took care of her in her grief. She loved them both so much, and they became her life. So when they left, as all children do, she lost herself. Lost herself in memories and woke up only to dream of falling asleep. And help if hard to find if you don’t know you’re hurt.
She had two sons. One she named after her husband who died in the war. One she named after her brother who took care of her in her grief. She loved them both, so much, and they became her life. So when they left, as all children do, she lost herself.
Ah Sons and Daughters. I have a longing for a son, but I have a wonderful daughter who I hope will bring me a son by marriage with whom I can connect and love. I can see how proud a mother can be to see a sturdy strong young man that she has brought into this world.
Do I have to. Okay, sons of people who do not watch much sport nor listen to much music probably grow into thoughtful people. Sons of people who watch a lot of sport and listen to a lot of packaged music peobably do not. Don’t you think?
He gave up much in life for his sons – the vacations he used to love taking, the hobbies he was once fond of, the occasional indulgences he used to allow himself before they came along and were willingly granted all claim on his time, money, love and his thoughts. The last thing he gave up for them was the house he had built out of his sweat, tears and lifelong savings which they threw him out of – the sons now older and thankless, the father old and penniless.
I don’t have any sons, I have two daughters. But I guess that if I did have a son I would enjoy him as much.
Those that are born of a woman and brought into the life of privilege from my eyes. I see those of them that choose lives of ridicule for equality’s sake or for passion.
Her sons stared at her, tears in their blue eyes. She sighed softly, wondering what to tell them. They all knew they were going to burn, burn in a wonderful array of red for their Lord Jesus. So, she said nothing at all.
(tw: mention of child death)
he outlived all three of his sons.
one of them, the middle child, died as an infant. barely an hour outside the womb he succumbed to some kind of lung infection – cristian was ashamed to admit that he did not recall the exact details. that day and about a week after it were all a blur. what stood out very vividly in his mind was the shock of thick black hair on his son’s tiny head, and how very, frighteningly light he felt during the brief moments cris was allowed to hold him and say goodbye.
the other two both lived to adulthood, but it proved to be a short one. luca enlisted into the air force, where he ascended swiftly through the ranks, until his luck and skill ran out on him at the same time and his plane was shot down over enemy territory. for a brief while, cris had not even been sure they would be able to return the body to him, or what shape it would be in when they did.
marcel, his eldest, was lost long before death ever took him. his behavior turned erratic at around twelve years old; cris, fool that he was, attributed the mood swings, insomnia, anxiety, and isolation to puberty. it wasn’t until marcel was seventeen, when he started hearing voices and seeing things, that he was diagnosed with early-onset schizophrenia. cris kept him close, then. he made sure he took his medication, drove him to therapy himself, convinced him to move into the psychiatric ward full-time and visited him every other day. he liked to think he’d helped, a little. eventually, marcel would take his own life.
not long before he passed on, at around 28, he started seeing visions about luca, who had been buried about three years ago. he said that luca would sit by his side in full uniform, silent, and keep him calm when the other visions or voices (lessened but not eliminated by the medication) drove him to madness. the luca hallucination became the most consistent one, keeping him near-constant company. cris wondered if luca had been there when marcel finally— but there was no point in wondering that, or wondering if the vision of his brother had encouraged him, tried to stop him, or simply stood there and looked on as always, as if nothing unusual were happening.
My sons run across the lawn in bare feet and jeans and shirts that won’t be white when they get back. I roll my eyes at their games, knowing their mother will make me wash those t-shirts while they eat ice cream in front of the TV.
What is it about sons? They run around thinking that they got it right. Every single time. So what if you raised them for decades and brushed their teeth and tweezed out splinters and met their principals. They believe they are perfect. And you, their poor parent, still have so much more to learn.
“There will be no sons for me,” he said, staring out at the sun as it set far across the plains. “No daughters. No laughter of children. The fire of life is a beautiful thing, but it can be a cruel one too. You live completely and fully—but that life dies with you. For all the things you think I will know, all the friends you think I walk with in the world, the simple joy that makes your heart beat will always be a stranger to me.”
Through their foggy windows, the father saw his sons’ futures. And through their foggy windows, the father never looked.
Whiskey and weed go in tandem with warren zevon as sons to a father.
All my sons and daughters are beautiful. It breaks my heart sometimes, how beautiful they are. They look in a mirror and don’t see that: they see bad hair and irregular features and pimples but not the beauty I see.
when the rebels launch the raid on the pesidental palace, the sons of the president were all killed when a bomb whent off in the room where they were hiding.
of guns lead to wars of men become another with a woman and the women just beg and cry until we kill or we die and all that’s left are the sons with inheirited guns toting their lives, slowly burning under the sun.
Jacob didn’t want to end things. But he knew he had to. He loved them all very much but he couldn’t stay much longer. Those boys had really been a blessing to him. He loved every moment they shared together. He wished to never forget those boy scouts, ever.
Sons – a daughter is a daughter for all of your life but a son is a son until he has a wife. Sons are great though. They carry on the family name.
Why would you leave the 99 to find the 1?
They were little, and they were strong;
once so sweet, and never wrong.
They hid, like blackness, in corners awry,
and just like that, my sons they made me cry.
Sons. I can’t think of anything else but of my father and my grandfather. Both of whom I’m currently missing. My grandfather has long passed on but my father is currently a long ways from where I am. I could call him now I guess but the time difference is an issue. Another thing I need to point out is this is getting a bit further from the actual word…
He wanted someone to teach. He was a professor and his lifelong job was learning and teaching, but lecturing to a class of 300 was never satisfying: no matter how hard you tried someone would always fall asleep. His students said that he looked into their eyes and it was kind-of unnerving, but really when he was lecturing it helped him to imagine he was talking to just one person. Even with his doctoral students, when they left his office after an hour’s discussion, he felt like they were walking out of his life, even if only temporarily.
He wanted a son. He wanted to bring up someone, more than academically. He wanted to bend down and grasp little hands gently, help a little boy off the woodchips on the playground. He wanted to be one kid’s sky.
He didn’t want a wife. This disappointed his mom, but he liked having the space in his apartment to himself. He talked to himself, he could be messy, he could leave his dishes in the sink for later if he suddenly had an idea, write on post-its on the wall with a personal organization scheme he didn’t need to explain to anyone else. Besides, it was so much trouble, he felt, so many hoops to jump through to get children.
So on Saturday Professor Miller went to the orphanage and adopted Tom. On Monday, he brought Tom to class with him, to have him meet all the students in his class. With so many eyes on him, Tom started crying. His dad didn’t know what to do.
I am one of two of my Mother’s sons. The first one died about 12 years ago. I will die soon, too. And the world will go on. I’ve been on this planet for six decades and I can only wonder how much longer I’ll be here. I’ve got a son too. He is one of many sons of that generation. They all shine so brightly.
Sons and daughters of Earth, today we fight for our children, our future and for freedom.
Sons, and daughters too, but mostly sons, are difficult for mothers to raise. How are they supposed to know anything about growing up and going through puberty? Wet dreams? It has a completely different definition when it comes to the female anatomy.
“I might not have sons but I have three daughters.,”said Shonali. ” And they mean the world to me. Sons might have lived with me in my old age. But daughters care for me everyday. To hell with those who thing sons carry forward your legacy. Daughters are no less.”
sons, not one but two. twins. it was his lover who told him the news, a quick phone call “im pregnant, its twins.” was all she said. he was in shock. it was all too soon. what would his wife think? should he even tell her? of course he shouldnt, but he had to. it wasnt fair to her.
Fasting, sons set food under the bright skies filled with but one hue.
sons of bitches. that is the only sons I’ll ever have or get close to. I guess I was never much of a mother or mom-like. I think I would rather like to have suns as opposed to sons. oh sonny boys the sons. sons. sounds like a Swedish band.
I’m an only child. What would it like, if mom had another son? I wonder if I would share with him all the secrets that I never told my parents, secret loves, secret depressions, secret daydreams. Or would he just be another reminder, of all the things that I never told the people I was close to?
“A toast to my brother and his blushing bride!” Rodrik said as he stood, his voice cutting through the din of the throne room before the crowd hushed, looking towards him expectantly. “May you always be happy. And may this one,” he tilted his head towards me and I swallowed on instinct. “Bless you with many sons!”
I felt my cheeks burn as the cheers rang out, the sickeningly overwhelming tone of their happiness making my stomach turn.
“I don’t know about before but she’s certainly blushing now, ain’t she?!” Lord Stannis my…husbands elder cousin bellowed, followed by hearty laughter all around.
“Leave the poor girl alone, husband,” Rebekah admonished, placing a gentle hand on her husbands arm. “Let’s not frighten the poor girl so soon, yes?”
The woman shot me one last disapproving look, her sons carefully tucked beneath her either arm. She scuttled away, crablike, and soon she was lost in the crowd.
Three sons and a daughter. Many would call that a blessing. The gods had favored him with many male heirs and only a lone, little daughter to sap away his resources, and she never asked for much, anyways. Indeed, Mori admitted he was blessed quite prodigiously, but what is wealth without power?
Ezra Stein, Mori’s ever smiling rival, had five sons and no daughters. Obviously, Ezra was the favorite with the gods and thus the favorite with the people. Whatever he did was right. Whatever he said was holy. Whenever his sparkling eye fell on you, there was no choice, no desire to do anything but submit. If Mori’s ideas contradicted Ezra’s how could they ever gain ground or become realities? His status and opinion would never match that of his charming rival.
Finishing words on parchment is like
bleeding through broken
sons and
trying to show your eyes
throw black ice
and emptying your empty pockets
in front of a beggar
because I’m only a crack
in a sheet of ice
trying to be someone I’m not
and it’s new and familiar
and I just really wish I could finish a poem
and feel who I really am.
-a.d.r.
A breath of fresh air to hear that small tiny voice say “Momma! Momma!” I am looking forward to those scraped knees, longs nights, tears, and all the many other blessings that will come along with being a mother. My chance will come soon enough! I look forward to it!
“They were our sons,” she screamed “how could you do that send them to be slaughtered! You knew you knew it was a trap! A trick!” she tightened her grip the knife held by her side, hidden. She walked toward him. Before he could stop her she jammed it up under his ribs.
“How could you let them go? How?” she whispered as she lowered him down into the dirt.
“They were our sons.”
my dad has a son and that’s my brother his name ias masun sons can be magical they can grow up to professional anuthing all they need is good parents
They were our sons she screamed how could you do that send them to be slaughtered you knew you knew it was a trap a trick how could you let them go how she whispered