Mother of Many

Yes, our tears stem From your success & your smiles Are inspired By our sickness, But your nest Must not be nourished By the warm blood Of my womb & your breasts Should not be fattened By the flesh of sinless infants. Even though you reproduce Like the clouds Of a storm & your children Are as countless as the seeds Of sorrow Whilst our little lank as the reeds Of the brook, You should not seek A home In the shells of our souls And let your pest-offspring Find sanity & rest In the mad bustle of our blood Poem 6The Girl Next Door She hates roses For their craft of thorns The spirits Found fixed abode In her mind And inspired her mad When shes gone her words will Take