The motherships have left us

Photo by Ibrahim Asad on Pexels.com
I miss the blood red sky of my Mother,
spent nine months there drinking her rain
watched my Fathers hands mould me into storms
never felt his touch though, always like a melting snow.
I miss seeing my limbs form into flowers and pull at the vine
spent a lifetime before a lifetime so warm was I,
watched phantoms through skin fade to grey
never saw a darkness like that and yet I –
I am darkness now watching the motherships come to shore,
always the lighthouse keeper, don’t want to be no more.
I see the motherships with their sails of precious cargo
never held such gifts, yet carried them far though.
I miss the dream-lights that shot across my Mothers sky,
anchored to her knot rope aweigh from her seafloor
I rowed my arms from the shallows to a crepuscule,
it was January and I drowned in the arms of her.
I am darkness now, my Mother furniture-walking to death
and all I see is a ship made of uncollected shells.
It is me who will carry her back to the sea
a bit of me in her, a bit of her in me.
We are always somebody’s son or daughter
some of us on the seabed tuck them into birth-water.
Not going to lie but I am a thousand grains of sand to ending
I am the wave that went off course, pulled back to break then wending.
I am the driftwood of a mothership like all of you floating
in the yacht of moon their will be a place for all of us to sink.
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