To Mother:
Pain's stings still remain.
Time passes and the realms of truths blurs.
Perceptions sway.
No side is sure. No side is clear.
Amidst this swirling wind.
One thing stands stark.
Truth!
Truth wears a subjectivity cloak.
Truth is nothing but subjective whispers that cloud the air.
Objective to reality,
Pain stands the only objective certain to no sparing.
Pain's sting remains ever directive.
What am I?
Whose Child was I in my younger days?
No one’s!
Mama been dead.
Pops was a rolling stone over yonder.
Pain's sting remains.
Relentless, beyond compare.
