My mother's waters gave me birth
and wrinkled, I came to her arms.
So, wrinkled, will I leave this earth;
beyond its sorrows and its charms.
How sorrowful and soon, the dusk
will not be held back by our cries
and I within this worn out husk
lie down again, and hope to rise.
I dream of other waters now;
where joy and love and comfort are.
Where, to pain I need never bow,
beyond some bright but distant star.
Such afterlife I'll never know,
unless I slip this earth -and go.
Apr 24, 2012
Apr 24, 2012 at 1:40 AM UTC
My mother's waters gave me birth
and wrinkled, I came to her arms.
So, wrinkled, will I leave this earth;
beyond its sorrows and its charms.
How sorrowful and soon, the dusk
will not be held back by our cries
and I within this worn out husk
lie down again, and hope to rise.
I dream of other waters now;
where joy and love and comfort are.
Where, to pain I need never bow,
beyond some bright but distant star.
Such afterlife I'll never know,
unless I slip this earth -and go.
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