Mother, what road had you departed,
To choose to leave us all behind.
For as long as I live, shall I ever know
My words that twisted your heart in grief.
O, how my ungratefullness showered each
Droplet of your love with poison.
And the winepress of my soul spewed aught
But venom upon that cold and orphan leaf;
For from thine own tree fell swift,
The thoughts of murder and quiet death.
I am pained with the joys of my iniquity,
And in my sleep, my eyes burn with corruption;
Like shades of black against a shattered window,
So that I might not know peace again.
Deserving am I not the title of beloved,
But rags that my tears might not pollute the earth,
That my sorrows would bleed me dry,
And the dogs would lap the puddles of my sin.
O Mother, how the well of my spirit has iced over,
Yes, even the dew of my presence has soured.
To even weep over the thoughts of your image,
cause bitterness to swell in my cavity.
Until the last glimmer of the wonderful sun,
I will remain broken, useless before the eyes of One.
Read more articles by Adrian Monroy or search for articles on the same topic or others.
