Scream In Silence

Rumbling, ancient war,
in its killing fields,
glinting shoals of stars,
scream in silence, yield.

Yield now, to the cold,
for she watches you
swaddle in black folds
between the stars’ truth.

She, our birth mother,
grows stars, shoals of wheat,
But, she, death lover,
reaps the stars, with glee.

“Mother, I miss you…
your cold, black hand on
my head, I wish you’d
reaped me ‘fore you’d gone.”


©️CGT, 2018.

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