I never heard the song of solitude
but felt the structure, plot and rhyme
of mother’s time who fled upon a wind
whilst i walked a long mile alone

My face a window
how silently i waited hours
to see what imagined but hardly
ever held: wept and prayed
to hold my mother within my arms.

All is a nightmare laid to bed.
After all. Grown, broken, and
trailing more — i have loved
other women more. Many dead
because I attract the crazy
of them all. The women whom I
loved — many deep inside the soil
and a few still walking upon
the soil as ghosts whom haunt me.

:: 11.01.2021 ::

About EPRobles

Writer, Artist. I like to paint abstract acrylic images onto canvas. I love to read everything, and I especially enjoy science, philosophy, and the arts. I'm new to the blog experience and I very much enjoy it! I hope to learn as much about all the features that WordPress offers and thank you -- my visitor -- for taking time to read my words. Peace and love... View all posts by EPRobles

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