Tuesday, June 19, 2012

The Rising


By the doorstep
I saw a derelict limb
One belonged to a wounded
From a battle of survival,
Longed serenity
Lost peace.
Her child sat wailing for his broken mother
Holding her heart in his palms
“Rise my little one, beyond the acrimony and neglect!”
She cried.
He stood
Holding her broken body by his chest
Glorifying the skies for the grace
He lingered
Buried her beneath the primrose bed
Watered
Blooms rose nurtured in her wisdom
As he, with her vigor
Marched forth to the oceans of quietude    



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