This popping seeds sound
Melting its quivering
Into a body that lies.
No longer quietly.
I used to hear the willowing weeps
I remember their vibrato
Lovingly filling me up with life.
Or not.
I am dead.
I think I am dead.
But life won't let go of me,
Using me unmercifully.
The movement in my bowls
The heat of my flesh
No longer mine to give
Just yours to take.
Not once a mother
I am now your home.
The universe is cruel and yet
You are feeding on me
Accepting the rotten me
To grow.
With a motherly love
With a last au revoir to life
I am surrendering myself to death
Whilst birthing you.
YOU ARE READING
When angels fall
PoetryA book of thoughts, pains and joys, served cold. No sugar to sweeten it up. i'm but a throbbing cluster of pain waiting longing to be released into nothingness
