o mother-mother

♪threnody to the mixed emotions of motherhood♪

“Children are knives, my mother once said. They don’t mean to,
but they cut.  And yet we cling to them, don’t we; we clasp them until the
blood flows.”  ― Joanne Harris, The Girl with No Shadow

i
in the morn
of my life
was the eve
of God's creation.
one kindred nation
i believe
without strife
thus was born.

ii
all the world
from her womb
cometh forth
with tears of passion.
no feeble ration
or slight mirth
pales the gloom
swiftly hurled

iii
where man's soul
fell apart
by default
of ill selection—
no predilection
to exalt
stubborn heart
o’er death’s toll.

iv
mother mine
does your joy
bring you pain
o mother-mother?
i kill my brother—
bloody stain
doth destroy
every sign

v
of your love.
does your pain
bring you joy
o mother-mother?
is there no other
kind of ploy
that could gain
hope thereof?

vi
rest your head
on my heart.
do not weep
o mother-mother!
i have a Father
o’er death’s sleep
Who can chart
life instead.

©Copyright 2020 May 09
by Clyve A. Bowen♫