Living proof that one lives while dead
I am who I am but I never was who I would be
Of all the things I could have said
The ones I kept silent defined me
By my experience I am made
forth from the quietest void I was flung
To the cradle carefully laid
Someone else to become not a hero unsung
Nor to be the hero at all, but a life forsaken
forged by the hands of sinister tradition unveiled
Toward someone, but not meant to be taken
Off the shelf, and flung to the mud.
Becoming the thing that nature had ever meant
The living one purposed nothing serious
Smirking and rosy cheeking no mal intent
By nature a creature alive, vital and curious
Wasn’t seen, didn’t see the last opportunity
Barely from the mother’s bosom freed
To be fed upon as a notorious delicacy
The end of the promised life, an evil breed.
A tradition brought to bear on a life so now dead
Now before it started it was yet __
And something dead crawled from it instead
Spiritus non vive, Vita sin Vita, skeins now respun.
A decimation, yet more than one per ten,
two, three or four of only these few years
All that was to be the gift and ken
And all that birthed a lifetime of arrears.
Experience made the one as he was then
Made now a soul bereft of all liveliness,
Never again the one that lived with perfect kin
Having now known something dark incestuous
A rivalry, a childish game, a something
Murdered the one that was, with eternal blows
bleeding blood, breeding bloated loathing
Or birthing a thing better, maybe god knows
He wasn’t telling, and she wasn’t caring
and I wasn’t living, and They were wondering
What is wrong – What is wrong our son,
Why so sad, Why so Fucking sad, but I was done.
author's note -