Was This the Apple
Was this the apple,then,your mother's breast,
Which father thought was his to oft caress?
And when ,in deprived rage,you bit to test
In return he vowed to ever you harass.
At this you learned that you could hate as well,
For punishment struck blows to your small heart.
Your memory, when wordless,could not ,tell;
Though pain and anguish made your soft skin smart.
As unknown as the journey to your birth.
As shocking as the grief of unmeant wrong..
As frightening as the gauging of your worth
As sudden as the ending of a song.
Impossible to foretell or to prepare,
The dangers to our breaking hearts lie there.
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