Bloodlines between my birth

I was born in pain, and in pain did my mother conceive me. In hatred and despise from others did she meet my father, but love conquers all.  Out of the emptiness of my mothers womb, i was formed and in great pain she screamed out, "the water is broken, the water is broken". 

But there was no one to hear her voice. No one to listen or give a care but my aged grandmother. In the frailness of her age, did she struggle with my mother to a midwife's house  in the dark of the night. 

It's not that no one heard my mother's voice, nor that of the young babe in her womb, but that for the hatred that overshadows love, my father's father ignored her. 

He was there,  the one whose blood runs strongly through my vessels was there. But he was blinded in wickedness, and cruelty for a son, he named traitor. Blood is truly thicker than water, they say, but that doesn't make it any more of a life-giving substance than water. To him, this was a fact, as he disowned my father and his quest for truth.

Heard him she, her screams, and in the heightening silence of her voice ate his meal - in the comfort of his manservants, maidservants, children and wife.  None said a word, only the clatters and chimes of their platters sang a bitter sweet cry for help, for all were scared of his wrath. 

It is easily said than done, the words i love you  from father to son. Memoirs of his son rushes through his head, the birth of his traitor son, the one he loved dearest and wished he loved more.

 'Perhaps if he did, would he have been on his side?, Perhaps if he melted this stone iced bridge, would he still be accepting of he?', 

where the thoughts rushing through my father's father's mind.

 An instance of normality, now cleansed by  the animosity   creeping over his mind and he huffed in pain of such meaningless thoughts. 

Out in the deep void of the night, her voice cried out and is heard by strangers afar. Rushing they come, embracing her who is in tears and freeing the fragility of my mother's mother, my grandmother. Empathy overflowing from the depths of their hearts, understanding the cruelty of my father's family, rush her to the midwife's house. 

Head already out, in pain, did i burst from between her thighs, forcing myself out - this was my first stroke. 

This i  called nothingness . 

Reviews

[luvingu01]

i think that your story defines the depth of artistic nature and sharpens the truth of a lovers redemption through the a sowing hatred vines.
Wow. I cant say how much this reinvigorates another form of literature.
it inspires me. this is truly a poetic keep.

[Coyote Poetry]

You are a amazing writer. The chapter was very hard and direct. I like the poor Grandmother. Love of the old one's is all we can have in a life for some folks. The story feel real and honest. Thank you for the outstanding poem.
Coyote