HOLLOW

What holds up this amassment
of cells? My soul
inhabits a cavern your words
carved over
thousands of years.
Each syllable you uttered gouged
out ten from my tongue.

Your every question, yes, every
sentence, drips my
bloodied syllables,
the very life upon which your
womb bestowed form, emotion
and expression. 

Now you would reclaim that
which would
be my own, breathe my breaths,
abstract my skin.
And I must move beyond the
threshold of birth
to faraway spaces, where the
glow of ancient
knowledge has faded.

There, I drink from a drying well.
Rain falls through
the ruins of my heart, taps your
taunting beat
in the dark hollow, quiets, as it
finds traces of its
own joyous flow, winding paths,
withered verdure,
patterns, varicoloured glyphs
from days of warmth, of smiles
and laughter.

To the waters' softly solacing
sussurus, I scour
the elements for lost syllables. 

I could never have
enough syllables, mother.

© 2014 Lily's Verse
Lilium Candidum

Image: flickriver.com