The Well

The rock is slick, hard and cold to the touch.
Black dark hole with no light under you.
The slickness of the rock has no grip, you can't get out.
The coldness surrounds you, you are alone.
The blackness of the hole gives no sense of direction, no bottom.
Your thoughts are all you have,
This is your cry.
The Well

Ink

Soft, tender skin, black words, red ink spell out the name of my ma, you grandson.
On my body forever the connection.
Never the passing will be as the connection remains.
Sense of togetherness remains.
The brilliant color may fade, never lost or alone, always by my side.