Patti Masterman


Mother may I?


Mother, may I shoot myself-
The sky with smoke is laden;
May I Mother, may I please-
Oh, but the dirt's so heavy!

Mother, may I turn to bone-
While universes jostle;
May I Mother, make some loam-
Where freedom's tread is broken?

Mother, may we journey far
To where a mind has value;
Where shallow things have followers few,
Not many men will travel.

Submitted: Friday, April 01, 2011
Edited: Sunday, May 08, 2011

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