running home

 

It seems that human life is a cycle of trauma of losing your mother
Each generation lashed down, down
By the thorny rose vines of degeneration
Other animals in the kingdom seem to have it figured out
Raise your youth and turn them alone to the world
To nurture briefly and teach them solitude
An animal’s life is so lonely
But it survives without falling in love or getting their hearts broken,
It’s never right for the old to bury the young
But we raise our children, watch them be born,
But it is us, the children, who watch our parents grow old and die
And it is not a task I am prepared for