mom's death was not taken well by storms and other hypocritical relatives
who never cared for her in the living
as the pyre burned and fires grew like the phoenix
i felt her closer in death
the wardrobe on the right side that has golden light now
was dark and empty
my first impulse as i was asked to leave wellington
i knew it was a matter of time
big city boy you may not stifle the small hill
but you will still pay the price and thorns
that you pluck from your heels
making the soil red with footprints
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