Endowed in perpetuity by the Glenna Luschei Fund for Excellence
But what use is it when fearsome hands lurk in darkness?
Stretching out and giving birth to all the loneliness
In this dark womb, I squat, bottled up in rage,
Cuddled in a mass of cartilage
In a time when the mind foresees nothing
Fruitful.
Author Comment
“This poem reflects a somewhat gloomy patch that the writer has gone through. But despite the state of situations, the writer believes that somehow, and soon, he will be reborn. He feels himself inside of a womb, awaiting his birthday.”