JUBILANT FATHER
His face is like a sun, warms the moon beside him.
She´s grown full; tonight begins the waning.
The tide pulls through her very bones,
her form aches as each wave crests.
The earth pulse, heavy, blood warm within her
Beats new chords, old sun god chants.
"You are the first mother and the last,
all spring flesh has traveled through you."
Aztec plumed and gold beaded,
your priest kneels at the holy alter,
gathers each salt pearl shed, nectar for his sacrament.
You are the temple,
we pilgrims swept through the gates,
bent figures know the scent and petals of your presence,
spread our arms to harvest blossoms,
and your priest, sun struck, kneels beside you.
Pity, sympathy for the young girl in the corner. Love written on her arms, An attempt to cover the cuts. Sorrow, regret for causing so much pain. Curled in a ball, Her head in her hands. Will no on help her?
Anger, frustration for all her mistakes. Tears quietly sloping down her face, The carpet stained a flamboyant red. Hatred, revulsion For all those who hurt her. Beside her, A vacant bottle of pills. Will no one help her?
Fear, panic For what is to come. She silently wept, It would all be over soon. Pain, grief Overshadowing her thoughts. She sat lifeless, No further pain. Why Would No One Help Her?
