The Barren land

I now know there will be no return of
you ever again, maybe

I would rather let it be
and leave you withering away from
my sore veins
medicined far prolonged with your
wawering distorted unbalanced friction of
hues mind has tasted
you in your sublime
rest wasted and thrown away
useless to my yearning
resident in mortality
the barren land

at utter most gives life to a pine
distorted with nothing to root in
measly twisted branches out lack of nutrients
a dwarf birch at most
starving suffering survival
a weakling unable to give strength or
height to climb as to scope beyound to navigate
possibilities in or to another life

you are lost from me, gone, away
simmering life out of me
senseless solitude of my puszta
eating away inside, grinding my mind
by shadows of a black hole

(I do still dream of you, of us)

gone
as life from
barren lands viewed
in moments to marked as beauty
but never in time to nurture any more life
blackest of holes of my puszta
forlorn darker than pain
strive away under
smile without
roots 

so weak to have requirements of
shine
nor last to give or to receive any
which it was to harvest, designed

scales of greys have blanketed skies for months, longer
oppressing all under, nascent hope or movement
skies get under your skin, only to disturb and turmoil
I wait, though it be
for sake of waste

clouds to darken beyond the darkest of any black
fire from raging thunders of light
for the dam of my eyes, to crack, crumble
cave, and release along years of harvested tears
to the barren land

Mother

In front did you know
the moment, felt it you may
rustling inside did you hear
that it is me

was it then you started, to weave
rope, completed in time
to the needs on occasion to come

to a rope to pull me into life
with it as quagmire into you
to pull through stressed early years
without sleep, like on tarmac
in a sledge pulling me behind

intertwining  an add-on rope, you did
giving the limits like on a neck of a dog

where did it come the anchor rope
that too did you do
and how had you knowledge
resiliently strict twined

along rebellious years I hid to banes
readily made was, of course
where had you strength to do that too
      and on time to throw
            a safety rope

at last I did find a way with an axe
to cut off our ways
loosen apart rope(s) had become

mine escaping to freedom
thine holding to it's own

diverging ways of two
in the run mine got lost too
in places that even shadows don't shine

lost ropeless crouching cries
no where or strength to go
a way with an axe I  came across
with it writing to stone

MOTHER: do you have rope to home
yes,
always

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I don't know does this work at all in English (Finnish is a superior language). I thought long  and hard and almost deleted this but egoism or need to share - who knows - decided eventually push the "publish"

I wrote it to my mother on Mother's Day this year since she insisted that I can't waste money on flowers. This one is so personal to me that it's impossible to say how bad or good it really is. I'm blinded by love on this one.