Explosively
Mother's whispers come to me
when the nights are long
and my heart crashes like waves at sea
a whispered warning; a broken song.
When a boy with soft hands
and softer words still, call to you
remember child, man's words are like sands,
much to go around, yet little to do.
But if I were to choose how to die
Suffering and yearning, yet at his hands,
I think I would choose it, mother, don't cry
My crumbling heart, you see, demands
That I die so explosively.









