My Mother

From the sores of birth, to fulfillment so dearth;

From writhing to raise, to the unwarranted praise;

From the amour so terse, to the reverberating curse;

From the cleaved nascent cord, a taint of thy lord;

Of all the prophecies of the Oracle, hopelessness to the brim of your crucible;

Passing every moment in the vain of devoid, the imperative of my fate to avoid;

Nigh is the time for the inevitable fracture, with belief and wishes to nurture;

But a moment to steal for the sense, for a rainy prelude to the severance;

Not deserving the droplets of the heart, not demanding the couplets of thy art;

Devouring on your crimson serous, prodigy to prodigal is less amorous;

Parting to departing an underlying cleavage, cascade for the scars of the lineage;

From the bruises of the intangible castigation, bleeding from the false lamination;

To all the inanimate acrimony, to the scrupulous soul it were all a ceremony;

Below the lament of all the smother, lies the halo called My Mother.....