The Mutter of the Soul

she roams through the ether with uncontained purpose she listens as a mother would for the sound of her new born waking swirling winds of strife begin to shudder her consciousness she surrenders to the pleading of a salty meditation a murky grey eclipse of self a breathless weight of vacant thought she proposes a gift from deep within her sense the self-inflicted adversary emerges he covets, masked in pride and intention her sucklings eagerly guzzle the curd of vanity sadly, she guides them towards the abyss chosen she is left with residue of the delusion she cradles them back to safe slumber they remember not the whisper of hope dissipates in rejection at her feet her tide must return alone she will be back for her children another day