The Broken Urn

Eyes flared in agitation Damasked in utmost lament The tyrants laughed in vanity Remains of his mother lie still As if the winds were holding their breath The urn cracked and cold as night Alone, the eyes softened His heart a hermit of radiance Temples tingled as silence stayed The unprofaned laughter now ash-shamed Hot tears of fervor reduced their pig-headed ways He kneeled to his mother as they gazed In the urn she no longer cried Even in the urn did she not abide April 28, 2014