Jan 2020
With every hot breath I can hear the song
Of the sublime Mother.
Her nails longer than the cold that
Drips off of the faucet,
Her milk purer than the pavement
Beneath my feet.
She taught me to fear the future and
I taught myself break her grasp.
Together we sit, arms crossed,
Bound by family ties,
Fading into her melody.
Of the sublime Mother.
Her nails longer than the cold that
Drips off of the faucet,
Her milk purer than the pavement
Beneath my feet.
She taught me to fear the future and
I taught myself break her grasp.
Together we sit, arms crossed,
Bound by family ties,
Fading into her melody.
I haven't written any poetry in over a year but heres my ~very~ rusty attempt to jump back on the horse. Let me know what you think!
