A Sorrowful Voice

By: Salvador S. L.

For it is said that the clouds are relentless in their dreams and thoughts. For one can witness that they pour when they have become heavy with aspirations. Only to come to gather more droplets for the world to violently cry out when they see fit. Yet, I myself see the fortunes of the seedlings of my desires but I fail to place them in my own grasp.

My seedlings are mine and mine alone. Yet, they quickly fall out of the firm grasp I once held on them. Only do I witness that they are fallen but I don’t move in any manner, whether it may be with elegance or with haste, to bring them back to me. For now, they are subject to the beasts of the world, often taking the form of those seeking to do me harm, to do as they please. You can believe me when I say I desire those seedlings. But you will come to doubt when you see my refusal to move for their contents.

If I were to strive for them as a mother does for her child, they would have seen their pretty bodies to reach the heights of the heavens. To see the glory of contempt at growing in a manner that no other has seen. Yet, they are subject to live on stones hewn by hands that don’t desire their flesh and by those of the one who has forgotten them.

I have it in me to see them grow. Yet, I don’t have the will of a mother to see it flourish. For I don’t, in the name of all the glorious saints who have seen their own desires to prosper, know what has come to me. You can sing songs of my forgotten and long lost determination and they will see more gold than the seeds who have long lost their way.

Oh! What could I have done to see a kingdom fall before it could have flourished?! For now it is subject to the beasts around me to lay claim and see them grow in their own ways. Leaving me to rot in the hewn stones that have fallen subject to hold my rotten bones.