I held you in my arms, Mother,
while you slowly died away
Cease, tiny spark! Burn out, mortal flame!
Death’s herald, though late
has not gone in vain!
The dimming beacon has long
gone still,
the diamond’s fire lost
within.
The dusty path beckons ahead,
how would I chart my path
can I ever tell?
The numbing vastness of
withering moments, each
strengthens the rock
you set me on.
An eaglet’s wings have I
now got
to soar the canopy of ambition.
Memories remain,
sharp stabbing hurt,
rebellious guilt
in the face of providence
and that is all.
Broken pieces of
coloured glass, all
trying to
fit in
the same jig-saw puzzle.