Mother

With ears in the wind, and eyes on the setting sun,

There begun lipless torture.

Inward cried Mother, her thoughts silent

As the sleeping owl

And her heart simmering in the golden hearth.

She lay upon herself, the crying brook bearing her tears.

O frightful silence, did fill her gushing ears

The eyes flowed and flowed till an ocean met Apollo

At the end of his perilous journey.

Her hair fell in deadened, yellow stacks over her mountainous shoulders.

And from the Mother's despair sprung a flame to her fireplace,

Heating her centre, giving her life.

And from her hearth breathed out a cry, so roaring and emphatic

The wind, the sun, the hay and hills trembled.

Mother that day birthed Daughter, who stepped to the surface

And spoke of their two heart.

So when Mother cried, as did her babe

When Mother whispered, her child did listen;

And spoke the prose she caught.

But at Mother's death,

To cold, calculating gears and her spiteful sons,

The Daughter's ears then closed.

She forsook the deceased wishes of Mother,

So fled to become her own Mother, grown

Impatient and insolent.

Daughter then livéd for lustrous goods,

For the gold bejeweling her wrists,

The silver upon her breast,

The silk cloaking her shoulders.

And ever Nephew, Brother, Cousin, who had granted her such.

And Daughter aged.

A sharp shade of cobweb cast over her broken doe eyes

So that no longer would she see

The suffering before her of the world she had

Allowed creation.

The cries of her daughters, the blood of her brothers

Falling before her feet.

Tick tock, tick tock.

The clock runs out of time

For dear old Mother and her Daughter.

Author's Note

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