"Mother"
Matt J. Hewitt
Torn from the main trunk
of my body I lift my dripping bloody head up toward
the heavens, I swing, and swing my torn off head round
and round by my long auburn hair, and my bloody bits
spray into the sunlight that floods through a gaping
hole within the angry looking sky.
And now To a small brook
I carry my severed head, I bend down and begin to fill
my now empty skull with the clean sparkling water, A
gory looking goblet my head, dripping drool, now filled
to the brim with the pure water of the whispering brook,
once again I lift my head high but this time as an offering
to the great gods far above, who in return chant my
name and with this my spirit leaps for joy within my
dying corpse.
At peace, at peace now for
the gods have drank from my gory chalice, I slump down
by the whispering brook and I listen somewhere deep
inside myself to the soft humming lullaby of my long
lost mother, back now in my crib, once again newborn,
I dream, and dream of my sweet loving mother, I dream
of the pain inflicted upon me by my sweet loving mother,
I dream of the darkness of her glowering face that hung
above me so often, reeking of stale smelling booze,
for this is my real sweet loving mother, for she truly
was the nightmarish beast with dripping dagger in hand
that stalked me through many a hideous dream,but now
strangely in my last moments I yearn and yearn for her
to hold me, as my life gushes from me in scarlet waves
that still pump out of my twitching now useless body.
|