Epistle To Mother Poem by Michael Witkowski
Epistle To Mother
You,
God Is With You
Heartmount
Afraid of caves
in your body
in your self
so you gather
actiions to fill
your caves, fill
your flesh with
importance. You
wield the ruler, the
whip, the baton, lash
out your tongue
dissembling your
intention and words
we your bunnies
need not your
caress. Pat your self
on the shoulder- the sound
of pats wil echo into
your caves and you
will feel emptiness
no more
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/23/2024 1:06:48 AM # 1.0.0.1119
Excellent and I can relate