Friday, June 15, 2012

Our Sons, All


Our Sons, All

They arrive from the
blue-green currents of
the womb,
fast beating a blinding pure pulse.
And as quickly,
the hourglass turns --
black sands of time
through red life,
white innocence
tinged to black awareness,
tainted by black knowledge,
timed by black death --
Someone's sons.
My son.
Our sons, all.

L. Antonia Brown
Isle of Sky Words

[acrylic, photos, calligraphy ink, vintage
wallpaper, anguish & all my heart]

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