Solitary-Poet

Upheaval from a mother’s breast

Churning deep inside her womb,

Plates colliding, shifting,

Patience runs out,

Erupts and catches her own children within,

Encases them, now –

Bodies in mud,

Encasing the soul,

Sealing the eyes,

The pain shall not be seen, only felt.

Timbers, etchings from child’s creation,

Like building blocks,

Centuries old – preserved,

Childs memories, heritage,

Scattered, some burning embers,

Others doused by incessant rain,

Covering the earth,

Split and ruptured,

Some covering me,

Stuck in the ground,

Covering the eyes,

The pain shall not be seen, only felt.

Mother’s womb has ruptured,

The plates collided,

I – the child within,

Captured half-submerged,

With mud-filled eyes.

Pain is now ever-present,

Miles around me.

I watch mother’s other children,

Encased, half entombed,

Caught in the midst,

With mud-filled eyes.