The Egg

 

Time shifted. 

  Eternity sat. 

Life fell into the stop motion 

  Of the meticulously aging now. 

 It became a collapse 

     Of nothings. 

  Emotions ran like the seasons over days turned into months. 

 Never knew when the rain would strike.  And I certainly didn't understand how winter could be so hot. 

  I walked out barefoot in the icy showers, and smiled for the first time in a long time 

   half-heartedly

   But it meant something, 

 as my feet and legs froze up to my robe 

  and vaguely chilled, the bare beneath; 

Seconds of life re-emerged and a smile on both our faces. 

  It was the hint of a promise, 

I had buried and never sought to recover. 

  It was the months I'd go on choking on the gourds in my throat, shaking violently the feelings from my skin, erupting.  

  It was 

    The Process. 

I had to digest time in my belly. 

  I had to sift through the memories forged, scrapped, and collecting dust of years unopened. Things repressed. 

  Unsure if I could make anything right in this life, 

     My heart barely limping to task, 

  I became sure, 

     I had to try. 

  and I have gestated in that. 

Time collapsed all around me

  and a drifting bed became my sea. 

  I swallowed every sadness- 

Unable to drink 

  Or smoke

    Or numb it away. 

There we drifted, 

   You and I. 

And everyday 

  Daddy still came. 

For you....

  I digested all of us. 

I sipped the ache of my sadness 

  And slept away the pain in days. 

I seized of anger 

  and ate the ferocity away. 

  I did 

    What I had to. 

So I could make a way. 

  and through it all, 

My tiny love...

 Daddy 

  Still came. 

He cloaked me, 

  and he tucked me away. 

He paved a path,

  From rubble my Love. 

  He fed mommy, 

So her heart wouldn't continue to break. 

  and together, 

We made a way. 

It has been four months with no words. 

     Just....

   Process. 

Eternity slowed 

   To nothings. 

Not so pretty.  

Just you, 

  and me...

and Daddy's feats. 

Imperfect, 

  He, is our only miracle. 

  and you little Dragon, 

You, are ours. 

  

New Year 2026: Divine Feminine's

 

Requiem Mass

 

   Little soldered soul, 

  infant bare in this life. 

A'jest, your back 

  Cast against the stone head

     and your tears recanting through veil. 

  Still in you, 

a child weeps. 

Upon his Mother, now cold. 

  It is a grey England. 

Wind-breaking, 

  and our hearts set a sail. 

  One will never be the same. 

 The day has that sort of chill. 

The Noble Girl

 

I can not conceive of the endless piles 

  Riga-mortis set into the soul. 

 Deafening, oblique melancholy, 

    A weight which anchors 

       While a panic trembles- 

            Anxiety's crutch, 

The breath which currents in me shaking hands. 

            Stamina in defeat. 

Choices weigh up in unviable options. 

And my world has already caved in upon me. 

Dwelt then, I have surrendered, aimless; 

  The path of my totality, 

 an open and drifting sea. 

Completely at the mercy of my Creator- 

  Doesn't matter how good any deed...

          as I am not some. 

Comfort will not be given, 

  By some one miracle or testament of faith. 

I do not get a sweet tale to tell, 

  One short epic, and any happy ending to follow. 

  That will not be mine. 

       Mine is another. 

Mine is the story of no miracle given 

  Worth while. 

A piece of property worked to the bone- 

  No salvation in this life; 

       Not for me. 

  By no fault anymore than our race to our slaver

  It would not be 

A story of saving grace. 

If I didn't know any better; the feeling is akin to 

  God's abandonment. 

Sacrifice and duty, for only the cost of one soul- 

  "My Child". 

A venom taking over my body, 

  mascarading as death. 

 In paralysis, some haulted stench of dismay and uncertainty- 

  A defication smothering the last semblance of light. 

  A surrender, then 

   To my enemies. 

  My life given over to them. 

     Made irrelevant. 

To enslave, 

  The noble girl. 

 But not before she had a chance to taste her fate, in Divinity's hands, 

  and granted, anointed

       She was. 

Years stripped away dreams. 

  No love, in the castle cast upon her. 

  She was whittled down 

 not even good in a forced life of servitude

For her captures sneered only of envy; 

Soley was their enthusiasm, 

  To snuff out any confidence 

     She kept for herself, 

      as if still somehow, 

       An ultimate threat. 

      

Her days, mine- 

  Grew timeless. Haunted. Restless. 

No savior. 

  Only piles now. 

 Only the occupancy of her soul 

   To another. 

And without her Light 

All stamina she had, carried no force. 

  She was whittled now. 

 Down to shaking bones, and quietude's. 

A shell of subservience, 

 Because in this world, 

    She mattered not. 

Here then, I take only what is given, 

 No token to my blood or name. 

    An orphan now. 

  A stripped and nameless servant 

  That my enemies parade.