Mother, are you fine?
Mother, do you really want
to stay here where it's cold
and desolate? Yes there are
the trees but
they've long been dead
and
only frame the rot
of hope and dreams.
Flies are gathering
and there is better space
elsewhere, in the woods,
perhaps,
or the bedroom locked
by skull and key.
.
You aren't flowing, like
a river,
but she is. And it's
wearing you down. Like
rocks. But they smooth
while you dwindle down and
I'm afraid you'll disappear
in the seconds that I
spend away from you.
At least let me wrap
your wounds. They're
festering
though you think they're
healed like you think
seeds grow
when crushed.
.
Are you really sure
mother? Do you not
want to leave?
Not even with me
mother? Do you really want
to stay here instead of going
somewhere sunny or
where crops grow? Here only
weeds are trampled
underfoot. Only cut flowers
are brought. And do you
really need to keep
digging? Do you need
to stay here and make
your grave
mother? Please
come with me.
-Bene Elohim Landegre (in want to Breksta Knight Landegre)
Thoughts
Unpublished work