To have forgotten; asleep in the thorns of wound
or laying sweetened and glowing in its hold
as dream and life abandon you
bewildered with cloud and silent haze
Triumphant Cain has returned;
without his father’s love to resurrect his only kin
“We have killed, we have sinned,
but we are not merely them –
sometimes love makes grave mistakes.”
Coffin in tow, to life unknown:
“It’s not age, but callous – my unsteady hands.”
I am fury beside your empty,
I am your burning pregnancy!
Will you dig my bones, are you even alive?
The awoken vein, the spirit is nigh!
“Momento Mori,” anointed upon our birth
The grey, the drain, entwined with promise
Knelt before the changeling sun,
knowing this time was not the first
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