SUNDAY, 4/05/2025

 

I cried the louder at birth

so loud that all the hollow deep

of Hell resounded...

but I was not orphan like Oliver Twist

in Pentonville, London. 

Just brought into this world

sired by the sullen glare

of tropical sunsets.

I cry now -even louder- 

at my mother's ascent

into the unknown as a skylark

from a garden of blue roses

by the sea.

I saw her soaring embracing the sun.