Look at me with those eyes that have raked the earth.
Or have you yet to claw deeply for a seed of meaning in the desert?
Behind you stretches a path of blood and bone
fragments of who you once were
now hot sand caking lips as you thirst
And which is better, to live or die?
When chaos is king and order
a mural painted over crumbling walls.
To step inside the illusion or stare above it in horror.
Both a wonder and a curse.
Each face, an abyss.
About the Creator
E. B. Rowland
From the heart of motherhood, where tenderness and chaos share a breath, I write because I must - to make sense of living, to uplift the overlooked, and to outpour the magic of living raw to the bone.
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