Echoes of An Unknown Mother
Poignant overtones like evening shade
Overtake as vines on paths of stone
Eventually grow so stones seems less alone.
The path, thus aged and venerable made,
Steeped in twilit mist or morning dew,
Haunts –– bemuses –– leading to the Past ––
A shadowed, brooding mystery holding fast.
Wariness of every person who
Kindles comfort, confidence and trust
Eviscerates hope for fear that once again
Nidifugous trauma’s dormant wrenching pain
Assert itself. So, a protective crust
Wards off gnawing urges to complain,
Except –– beneath –– lurks fear of the insane.