Gone too soon

Her hands ride these pen strokes echoing her words.
Flowing from her bleeding heart her mind crucifies her soul for never being good enough
And her tears tear the sheets of her enforced eulogy
Her broken bones cringe from trying too much to no avail
And she writes:

‘My son, my son the light shines differently for each of us. I gave my all to show you the white one but you were always drown to those colored red, these carpets of fortune, golden treasures sparkling at the corners of your eyes. My son, my son, you loved the highness albeit the wrong kind of high. And I’m high in sadness, as I watched the bullets wash the blood out of you, red, like the color of my bleeding heart, saddened of your demise. I sit and wonder what I did wrong!!! What did I do wrong? These migraines of sorrow constantly remind me that you’re still my own. I guess you decided to slip away with all my answers, so sleep well son, find some rest, some peace, it’s time you experienced the slowness of the earth. My son, you aren’t to blame. That lies one me for being naive and not knowing the best way to raise a child on my own. Every time I left you on your own and waved goodbye, never did I think deep enough the meaning of the word. Goodbye. I’m saddened of the vile nature of the world, kweli:

Asiyefunzwa na mamaye hufunzwa na ulimwengu

My son, my son, I hope we meet again. Always know my love will never run dry!!!’