IV
July 19th, 2020
Sometimes, I wonder
what do these dark eyes see.
The glamor of unclaimed innocence?
The fertility of virgin mounds?
What will they see
when the chest sags,
when the blood stops,
when the lips wilt?
What would they see
when the flesh inside
has one less arm or one less organ down there, or
stutters when speaking or simply cannot see the light of day?
Would I be
a witch for bringing the wrong one,
a murderer for birthing death,
or a hag for providing none?
Or would I be
an ingrate for refusing Nature's honor,
a heretic for breaking the laws of Nature...
... or a coward for fearing Nature's design?
Perhaps, I am simply a recreant, framing a good god.
YOU ARE READING
Blue Bells
Poetry*Featured by WattpadAnthologies and LY* "A woman withers like a flower. [...] A man ages like fine wine[.]" Is this a law of Nature or simply the distorted reflection of some broken mirror? Can one shatter beliefs that have long run in the family...
