My memory is a slavery whip
that brittles my skin with scars.
Nights and days, my chin would rest upon my knees
and tears would run down my cheeks
My thoughts would travel frantically-
mostly where my physical being could not reach.
I've been through labors where mothers weep
and to funerals where lovers part to sleep.
My spirit wanders in the dark
like a bat, blind in the daylight,
I miss the stars of heaven
for frozen tears have blistered my eyes.
Tired and weary; my bones are now of dust
scattered in the wind of the unknown.
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