She never thought I was a good writer
Or really had anything worth saying
Worthy of her eyes to be read almost
Beautiful enough to look up from
Whatever was more important but still
Tragically not enough to remember or
Care that it happened “just not her thing”-
Accusations for adoption; what else?
And so I was born into a world that
Wished kidnapping by some genie
To have been dropped off generously
By a courageous stork in Bornholm
Where the roe deer and hares
Would be left to raise me still
Their ears would turn to listen
To my songs and echo my words
I suggest it might be like a Snow White
Situation although the dream was
Always that the mother would be
The understanding loving ear to
Listen through a channeled heart that could not
Preen itself without the caressing knowledge
For what the psalms of her boy
Would scribe but time passed on without a harp
And the web grew colder
And the need grew stronger
Bite clenched deeper for to pierce
The flesh of his soul was the only
Capable reaction he could query
Extract out from a lady who doth not hear
What rendered love wished to
Be heard in pure even from a rocking chair
The carpet or a tree if everything
Around her was that it could be
Beautiful except were it from me
No wonder the second guessing
Many years after lingered on
© GÄ
Poétique 