Mother Dear

relationship b/w mother and son

Mother dear, don't frown.

The sound of my breath as witness

ushers down, into your path

the one renowned.

I act as amnesiac often

blood springs to veins with the

thoughts and pains of time forgotten

mangled fruits gone rotten and my sunken speech exclaims

"stop them.... stop them" 

please.

We cemented ourselves in charity shops,

holes in jeans mended with patches 

of sewed seams and whiplashes,

of nomads wandering the plains to be

know, to be king:

the king of the ashes 

choked with scorched breath and 

silenced rings.

I remember a story of sacrifice 

strung out nice for all to see.

A device used for modesty and empathy

in equal proportion, but also for self-gain;

my brother often reminds me of the pain we endured.

perturbed by parental influence

kicked out of the nest at 16.

That is why his eyes glint at her fall

but the slate is clear for me,

as it should be for all.

Nobody is perfect and nobody is loyal

but hate brews hate

and the fruit begins to spoil.