II-VI In a Basement With Bertha Mason

I hungered, oh the plight, to need all near in sight.

Creativity fled, as art held sway in my head.

Upon these rented walls that bound,

I saw the words of Rumi sound:

“Lovers don’t finally meet somewhere, they’re in each other all along.”

I’m moved, yet filled with woe,

today’s the day we honor those who motherly affections bestow.

My own, alone, still dreams for me,

what luxury, to just survive this spree.

I tell her of my newfound goals, for old victories no longer console.

I seek horizons far and wide, to lessen the shallow tide inside.

Mother, love soars in my refrain,

the ache of distance, your silent pain echoes.

A kindred ache within me grows, akin to the man who claims he’s close.