My soul pouring to pen, pen leaking to paper, I feel mass agony amid humanity's restless nature. The eyes of a motherless child transitions...hope, grief, anger, rage; Never understanding the need in that void filled heart struggling for the next beat. I see you father, supplying life's bounty that your seed may thrive; But a mother's whisper of rejection in that eager ear cause unjust and selfish bias. And to that body without a home, come hither adorning a weary gait; While wondering if your form is visible for the space it holds weighed by the hope once had eternally lost. Oh mother toiling day by day while bills keep you hanging one check to the next; Carefully constructing how to make something out of nothing…big belly rumbling but tiny ones full. I see you aged one that father time seems to have forgot, hoping for an ear to immortalize your wisdom; With only wrinkles, grey strands and a thousand reminiscing dreams to keep time remembered. My soul, it leaks crimson to the paper it wounds and scars, But still each looks into the others eyes uncaring of our kindred wars.
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