Trying to find a cause

I want the sun to bade while facing
the blue sky of my childhood
... but ...
mother, I am falling face
down on the dark and dirty
blanket of snow…can I lay
next to your grave and count
the frozen flowers of sorrow?

My breasts are like the rotten grapes,
and my breath is like the not-kept secrets,
and my hands are the spiders
that chuckle on the walls of grief,
and the fear from the reappearing
death of yet another beloved
grows deep within and tortures me...

There is not a thing as such as living for Hundred Years.

There is nothing as such eternity in the Chamber of Life.

We all end up in a lonesome place called Death.