When I was hatched
from the depths of mother's womb,
I was but a weak babe,
a light, little thing,
wrinkled and fair but quite silent.
I was born of many fathers, no doubt.
But my mother, with reasons unknown,
fled from that earthen sperm,
the one that filled my eyes
with an amber brown
likely similar to his own.
I was a helpless child
with bones not yet strong,
with a wit not yet formed,
with a beauty not yet desired.
My mother kept me latched to her breast
with a weight of fear
making her step heavy.
It must have been fear, yes?
Why else run from your husband
with his red-faced seed
tucked tightly under your wing?
With eight and twenty years on my hands,
I now know that my welcome to this world
was nothing more than a curse;
a foul disease; a dark witch's poison
that slowly erodes my mother,
lining her face,
plaguing her mind,
and removing all of her senses.
And what of that father I once had?
That glorious knight
from whom I prayed for a rescue
every night and every day
throughout my mother's unintended imprisonment?
Does he still survive?
Does he still house a beating heart
behind his armored chest,
and if so, does a snippet of that heart
beat for me?
Such answers remain hidden from me.
The wonder eats me away
as maggots to a dead carcass.
I fear time will never reveal this mystery
but instead will bury it further
until it becomes nothing more than myth.
Only then will I be forced to conclude
that I indeed was never born to a father.
I must accept my bastard status...
either that or my 'pure' mother
is the 'Virgin' Mother reincarnate
and thus I am the savior
come to forgive all sin.
A lovely fairytale, yes,
but even I couldn't fall for that nonsense again.
January 2, 2012
