From the Ashes of a Thousand Sorrows
By Lorelei

I lost my son,
A mother who loses her child
is more cursed
than all of the budding Judases
of this world.

My son,
who would be a hero, an athlete,
Prime Minister,
beautiful as my unlost children, remains
forever amniotic.

Child of the night,
no longer remembering
colour and light,
do you sit astride Orion as he
stalks down the sky,

possessed of
moon-soul and wind-kisses that
whisper and flit
by my cheek, living inside the cool
night air.

My skin
smells of sorrow and want, and
sometimes I
wake up screaming, only to find I was
never asleep.

Styx and stones
have broken my bones,
my heart
and my mind. I call
for endurance

and, flame-hair fyling
I slowly rise yet again. I am
Lady Lazarus,
with eyes like old, dead leaves,
dry, dry

no tears left to cry.

Lorelei is a mother of two and has been published by several small presses in England.