I am my Creator’s creation; my Designer’s design Like a piece of art drawn by an artist’s hand, I have a destiny. A predetermined fate set by the hand of my Maker. A set date of birth, and a set date of death. Who are you to tell me how to live? I have...
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Soulful Stories
the silent wail
A poem about seeking a return to the pre-birth stage on account of immense emotional painno womb to take your tears to the hurt, above you – you, only a petite full-grown from a premature fetal fist – forced to let it lurk inside the three hundred ninety grams of it all as well as the mere seven pounds not once not twice nor the nth time but...