helpless
April 23, 2014 § 2 Comments
A fury of ravens’ wings beats an escape through a rent in your soul that not even mother-love can darn with threads of patience and longing. Black feathered shapes are wrenched and lifted in the vortex. Your suffering disarms me.
An Apparent Mind 
Your suffering disarms me…….I sit my arms hang limply by my side. My heart is beating. Breathing through my naval I hear ravens cry.
The well overflows at being seen.