Mother's Cry
He gallops in
On his fence...
Auras are the vision of emotion.
I grow quite certain
As your face becomes
Impressed into the air,
Half there,
All fading and diffusing
Into the light.
The light carries my being,
And I see through eyes
Transmuted
By my spirit's hegira.
You and I,
And everything I behold,
Glow with poignant energy,
Colors cast
According to being and purpose.
What is it you ask?
That I should not flee,
Disappear from your reality.
But my soul is already soaring.
And the aching,
Aching
From desisting
Leaves me broken.
Broken because
Instead, you ask,
Stay,
And accept the illusion of family,
Only do not ask but this
Pittance of me.
Do not ask for
Devotion, exclusion, reliability.
My life is private, My life is mine
-You tell me-
Your role is defined;
I choose mine.
Do not ask me
For a home.
Mama, mama!
The baby inside my womb cries.
And that is all I hear,
Only its cry.
Because it, too,
Is torn
Between the reality,
Of a hero seldom there,
Or the hope
Of a father
Sometimes the oppressor,
Sometimes the succor,
Always there.
All or nothing
Is my stance.
But you break me
With your objections,
Because I love you,
Because I still dream and hope,
For the home we could dare.
I weep,
And the visions blur.
You wanted to be free,
And thus, I absolved you.
Now you seek a tether
Made of water,
Mastered only by your hand.
Your face disolves into
The very sea of your convenient rein.
Resist no longer!
It is my own love, my own self,
Not really you,
Which truly doth break me.
And in the end, I, too, plunge.
© Elven Lore 10/14/01