Sumer's Words from the Woods

A heart fractured, before birth. A fate of the fates to battle for each day. 

Broken, a theme in poem after poem. I am a donkey in my corral lead round and round chasing a singular lie dressed a thousand costumes.

Some days trample me to though the ancestral mud. Muddled hauntings meant to break a man, to send my ancestors back to history’s forgotten wardrobe.

Without Grace’s grace and mercies there would have been no candles that ushered me through darkened den after den. Musty with ancestral blood, the dank stench of ignorance and arrogance. 

A destiny laid at my feet that climbed through my spine into my brain. I dread each tread with a broken heart. Haunted by the historical sorrows echoing down a hollowed out  dying oak tree called, my family.