deepundergroundpoetry.com
Illegitimate
Sometimes I feel
I am God’s own bastard child.
A messianic prototype,
Spread-eagled and push-pinned
To some heavenly drawing board.
I am knitted and forgotten.
Tossed into the cosmic dustbin.
Destiny’s love child
Tucking stars in her pocket
For wishes and prayers
That will never be heard.
-Zoe Richardson
I am God’s own bastard child.
A messianic prototype,
Spread-eagled and push-pinned
To some heavenly drawing board.
I am knitted and forgotten.
Tossed into the cosmic dustbin.
Destiny’s love child
Tucking stars in her pocket
For wishes and prayers
That will never be heard.
-Zoe Richardson
Published 18th Mar 2015
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18th Mar 2015 2:30pm
I like the sense of being martyred in a less ostentatious way to the drawing board then, later, being tossed into the cosmic dust bin. The absurdity of this situation is dispelled with the touching and beautiful final lines about Destiny's love child. Very fine work, Zoe.
