|
A fear forms I cannot name |
|
pulsing in waves of sine, |
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in gaunt rooms, in pallid light |
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and flatlines |
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In faith I drank as from a spring, |
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yet a bane makes itself in me, |
|
and thirsts for the very things |
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I despise |
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Though by no choice of mine, |
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I see through my mother's eyes. |
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I look to a newer world |
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with the sunrise |
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Where birthrights endow; |
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not to burden and bear, |
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but bless and bestow, |
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and baptize as heirs |
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But I'd be received with sighs |
|
as the bane of my mother's pride; |
|
as a stranger inside her womb, |
|
yet outside. |
