Sequestered in literature
containing only vowels.
Spread in scrolls across the midnight blue.
There, is where it is sung in drones.....
was the sound lost, or
had it never been heard?
we tried willing it to be
it never came....
not now, not then, not yet.....
we remained untested, unsure
and unfamiliar with our abilities.
beatitudes aimed at our persona's
did not forgo the intention.
as the ocean without her tides,
the mother cried
Standing open on the midnight blue
She spilled silent images of herself,
surrendering her substance into its folds.
the Mothers call is always answered
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