A Minor Meandering
By butch
I dreamt I was a small child, Nestled against my mothers breast, Warm, and safe, Protected from all that be, Unharmed, and healthful, To falter not as a waif, This was the best of worlds, My mothers world, The only right world, That is what I most crave, Away from the malevolence, Against which I have been hurled, I walk these roads of purgatory, Past the dusty tracks, Separate, but not equal, The blood that flows within, The same blood that has spilled, From those that fall, I take the air from the sky, The food from the land, Moisten my lips from the wet earth, I walk upon this same place, I speak as those I meet, But, do not know my worth, I grow weary of the possibilities, Though no answers appear, And, claim no insight or fame, I wish to remain anonymous, But, at times I must recon, And, at times take the blame, I accept these terms, Not chosen, but recieved, And, care not what fate remains, Tommorrow comes, As does the night, Time has all the gains, Mother, sweet mother, My heart to you belongs, Chaste memory I have saved, I will go the path, Until we have met again, Once this this life has been waived........ Written September 20th, 2001 © on Sep 20 2001 02:45 PM PST 10 • 0
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"I dreamt I was a small child,..."