the child screams when he is born,
for the world is cruel and sad
and his mother's bosom all flesh -
as soft and as fragile as his.
he was once whole.
now he is but a part, cut off,
severed.
Soulful writing about humans and places
the child screams when he is born,
for the world is cruel and sad
and his mother's bosom all flesh -
as soft and as fragile as his.
he was once whole.
now he is but a part, cut off,
severed.
My inner mystic is plagued by insomnia and runs entirely on divine grace. The outer shell, however, does occasionally need: jasmine tea, ice cream (preferably salted caramel), good books, music, and new horizons. If you’d like to help keep this blog alive, please choose an amount:
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