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For my Mother



Earth and Sky
With the tip of my pen I carve a sickle
in the heavens, use stars to dry the weathered
ink as it stains my hands.Eons of dust blur
beneath my words.
I drain the sky of indigo
paint the earth with shattered light.
Soon the sun will fracture all my coveted conjunctions.
Dawn will drag her finger through my hollowed soil
inscribing the void above us
with a dichotomy of separation.

My mother's birthday today. It seems if I don't give her a poem every year she frees the hounds of subtle guilt....lol I know I went a little overboard with the alliteration, but this one seemed to fit with it.

Comments

( 3 comments — Leave a comment )
sunhawk
Dec. 16th, 2011 04:51 am (UTC)
LOL Guilt poem, very nice ;)
ciaranbochna
Dec. 17th, 2011 05:49 am (UTC)
Thanks:) According to her I have been telling stories since before I could write them down, and I always gave her something like that on her birthday. I suppose I have to stick with tradition...lol
sunhawk
Dec. 17th, 2011 05:55 am (UTC)
Ironically, in my family, there's almost a tradition of NOT giving them art because the kind of art I make is not really their cup of tea plus I've already given them so many things over the years, it's like how I'm not allowed to knit or crochet presents for them anymore either lol
( 3 comments — Leave a comment )