Sleep and Death converse.
Their native tongue is imagery
Where the subconscious is the only way
To decipher their dialect...
Her grandmother came to her
In the whitest of whites, just glowing
In "Its" likeness, spirit
Smiling with wisdom in possession...
Holding her hand
Was a tall and shy gentleman,
Face veiled by a shadow.
The only dark thing in the room.
She inquired of this young man.
Her grandmother says,
"mija this is your son".
It was verification,
That they do grow in the afterlife!
"the foetus buried in my mind,
Came to me, with my grandmother
24 years later exactly,
On his birthday (abortion date)"
His present from her, was a gift for me
To meet his mother for the first time,
So she knows I'm ok!
Scribe Marlon L.