The Mother Weeps

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The mother silently weeps

The tears echoing her pain

as Mother Nature imitates her misery

The women of the world;

birthing heads and

giving life to us all

 

She gently rocks

Backward to front

The figure engulfing in her

sorrow, to witness it all

Empathetic motions to offer

her own condolences

Where her words could never mean

anything worthy of mention

 

In her head she screams

Shaking from the force to try

to keep it in

A haunting loss of control

that bounces in between the dark

corridors of her mind

A plea for mercy

A penetrating message for anyone

who understands,

those who can relate

 

Begging to a land beyond the frame

that she’s currently hovering in;

the ideal representation of grief

Feeling alone instead of connecting

to Father, Mother, Sister, Brother,

Neighbor…

Protected from the world from

the very source that keeps us allied;

even if some refuse to see it

 

She gazes out

With her wrinkled wet face

through the rain-splotched glass

Seeing past her garden,

The land where she was born,

The places she has lived,

the cities she has traveled

 

Ignoring any boundary laid upon

her memories

Only feeling the mourning and the fear:

 

Skin vibrating, tingling feeling

Hair standing straight on arms;

the first responder to the

aching hollow

burrowing beneath her pariah chest

Carving away flesh until heart is

discovered, hardened to the

blackness

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One response »

  1. Pingback: Monthly Archives: March 2014 | Muse Writer

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