The weak bones in your neck frame, i noticed them, yet bore you,
i heard the pounding of gravity, the need of oxygen pouring into your lungs, yet i bore you,
I bore you, fearing war, bore you witnessing it, heard the spray of machines splattering the dust of men across the nether,
loved knowing it led to hate, gave knowing it gave to the ungivers , bore you, pregnant with self, hurting with unknowing, knowing with full knowledge of lack of knowledge, would let spirits burn because i had known better.
have no fear because good triumphs always,
even if not in your finite days allotted you by the mechanism or whatever you subscribe to spiritually, then mere entropy and genetic change itself,
the importance of all life.
Is a world of Algae less good than a world of Men?
Based on the standards elicited by society , I note little difference in the moral dichotomy of algae and man. So i question the moral faculty, wonder more and more, if it is a freak occurrence existing only in those it hasn’t been bred out of by some devilish evolutionary body pushing ever onwards trying to create hyper beings forced to carry the burden of a sleeping humanity, and then call these men and women philosophers, give them their chains, and watch them jangle them and say words like “Status” “Kingship”.
No golden apple, just the weight of the world these Atli bearing it upon them,
some never being heard, ghosts in the machine which hoists and pulls onward sometimes ok, other times teetering on destruction.
Pages of books stacked around me, my son eating cereal, the sun rise, their eyebrows
the boys so beautiful, prettier than some girls, feel sorry for them, feel envious of them, protective of them, in love with them, their protector and lifelong friend even if they are assholes.
Being a father is like being a lot of things. Those unfit should never have forced themselves upon another and cried in joy,
there has never been any illusion as to what would occur, merely flabbergasted buffoonery mimed out of habit because of fear that ones sins caught up with one, for fear of the graceless society we dwell within.
I feel bricks of worlds promised to block and save my progeny, and their accessories, from fear.
the manufactured fear, the fear brought by walls, elicited by barbed wire, separate
I hear it whoosh in the night , transport trains covered in graffiti spreading its inexorable gospel,
the sound of rust, and bums crying in the starlight for a just God to side with them in a cold world,
much too cold for May.