These trees stand,
casting about in their solemn silence, whispering 
of the deepest secrets of man, bearing 
their hearts on the heaving winds, that cut cold
through these hallowed grounds.
And the tears of heaven wash 
the wounds from our broken hands, as we 
raise them up to praise, in the 
sorrow that we endure, heavily
on these shoulders that carry this, 
our burden; breaking image of life. 
We hope only, because we are somehow sustained, by
this love, which is so much the source of

Can you hear me? Please try. Please hear me mamma. I want to know you. Why don’t you want to know me? Why don’t you feel my longing? Why don’t you feel my yearning? Why can’t you understand my love for you?

Mamma, I want to see your beautiful face. I want to hear your voice murmur softly. I want to feel your hands gently caress me. I want you to love me. I just can’t understand this. Why are you so blind to my miracle?