a mother’s cry.

the sacred road


the wind whistles as it dances
across tree tops, along interlinking branches.
it is a song straight from the mother
a primal cry for all those
that now bleed upon her sacred ground.
the sands of time loom
ever ready to mark each of our ends.
but it should be
in the haze of grey
where teary-eyed reminiscences
are breathed on relieved sighs.
we should not lose
the amber fire of such early years
to hidden beast
or selfish gain.

the very earth
trembles under the quaking
of her bitter anguish
at injustice of such savagery.
their call no longer echoes
under the crisp and steady gaze of the harvest moon.
and the poignant silence
shatters her.
she is a walking wound
ravaged by a grief
so raw that even the extension of the sun’s
radiant embrace cannot touch
the very breaking of her soul.
there are no more…

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