Too Late


Mother can you hear me
or are you too far away
locked in bewildering deafness
waiting death’s creeping day.
I have broken away from your torment.
Did you feel me crack the band?
Is there feeling left in the fingers
of your crazed and crippled hand?

Mother I am free and flying
where you would not let me play,
watch me with your sightless eyes
before you fade away.
Tell me about your burden,
the hatred when love falls apart,
how my wretched boyhood
was torn from your aching heart.

Can you say the words “I love you,”
is there enough warmth in your breath
or like the breeze in the evening
has it stilled to the pace of death?
Is there nothing but dust in the dust
that blows in the wind of your sigh?
Is there no love where love was so crushed?
Is there a tear in your eye?


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