My Eternal Wrath and Scorn.

With anger and bile, you arose from the bed.
None so living, and not quite dead.
How could I have forseen this day?
The child I bore, a depravity.

You, so small and pale, were born from love,
Not sand and blood.
Yet all that comes from your mouth,
Is course and cutting.

Dirt and hate.

My intentions, while noble,
Proved to be a sheer and unabashed tragedy.
We, your father and I,
Could not have concieved you any other way.

Death, becomes life.

We took you in from the cold,
Out of the rust and stone.
We made you, as one only can,
When forming perfection.

Life, becomes death.

I do not understand it, why?
Why did you rise and tear us so?
Where did we go wrong?
We couldn't have known...

Questions without answers.

I cry, here now,
Out of ignorance.
Why were you born with such hate in your heart?
I cannot fathom your soul.

Soul of steel.

Why you could not tell us,
Why you awoke screaming in agony.
I cannot understand...
What can I do to soothe you?

Mother's milk.

I cannot feed you.
I cannot teach you.
I cannot love you.
If you are not here.

Shadows and shapes.

You ran from your womb,
In and under.
Through your safety,
Into darkness, into rain.

Misery and regret.

I do know this:
You were not born of human flesh.
I cannot touch you,
Without feeling your fear.

Your pain.

Your screaming.

Your hatred.

I want to hold you, my son.
As only a mother can.
But I know.
The embrace would bear no love from either side.

Is this how every mother feels?
Shame? Regret? Guilt? Fear?
What about Joy, in such circumstances?
I feel that too.

Joy to the world.

I see you yell, as a mother knows life.
I see you run, as a mother knows love.
I see you fall, as a mother knows fear.

All I see is my son.

My life.

My death.

My legacy.