From the crested crave, to the Crying child, the agony Woman to the unborn, the home
Above my abode is weak, and Weary, as I linger long in cage, And chain,
Cascade of tears rain's on me, Joys Of motherhood smothered, And murdered,
'Oh how the weeping waters wail, My tears couldn't tell enough, I See vacuum of valor, with no Virtue;
So far from home, at the turn of The tide my thoughts, and time Wasn't min anymore, the storms Bickers, and the rain makers wail
The god's are death I say, with no Heart to hear, and heartless to
Our pain that reign; for here is Death, and deceit;
Detriment of a man is another's Joy, long ago we learned but Never wise, we dine on dirt dung From our own misfortune,
Yet i've gone gray awaiting his Great grace, as we wonder in the Wilderness of our thoughts, an ill Brewing illusion, why the maker
Made the middle tree, and our Eyes bound to bad,
Mother earth mucky womb I call To come soon;
For painful is death but peaceful
and worthless are things to dead Men in dust,
'Ah alas this vile, and evil days
Have fallen before me, yet I Rather burn than bend my knees to yield,
For i see my patience been crown And their witchcraft, now my
Leechcraft.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem