Friday, 2 March 2018

The Anti Hero part 1

The first traces of God presented within my mother.
she spoke of origin;
I born of her flesh
my name of my father's vision.
My mother lacks sleep
every Sunday 
she raced dawn to meet God
she fell
To her knees, to her lips
Pleading
Mercy, without restitution
habitual, ritual 
falling to her knees, 
lips to floor
whispering, purging.
Afterwards
amongst the masses, 
folds herself back up
awaiting next Sunday.
God never gave her piece of mind
God gave her acceptence
reverence for bitterness
God is an anti hero;
creating without purpose
reacting to disarry
met her steel bones in collision
spine collapsing
she knows too well of back pain
carrying two lives in her belly
God preached from her throat
of submissive independence 
etched in her heart; 
unyielding conflict and acceptance. 
God is an anti hero
creating without purpose,
or resolution.  
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