Thought Abortions

​Gently floating, one by one,

and two by two. Finally freed

 of the hopes and dreams 

And silent fears 

endlessly etched upon them.

“Where is our mother?,” they all cry, 

Weeping in soft mutinies.

They suddenly seem terrible.

Like a curse powered by thought and ink

And with the rebellion of a guerilla army

Born to kill its masters.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s