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
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