La Mère

Sombre symphonies of silence commence
As dreams and lullabies of skies of an artist's pallet solidify.
Cradled in the arms of maternity, of an enemy
lying in repose.

Baptized in amniotic fluid...baptized.                                
Or crucified?Died,be born,live.
For what did the creation give for this?
For a shunning bordering brutality, a resentment passed down to  a generation,unasking.

''Hush!'' When vermillion is all we see and resentment cuts deep, the child
cannot becalm to sleep on a lap of bitterness.
Do not be dwindled by doubt as the liars have lingered on their lies and
fallen.

Of a life can only one dream until given breath.
Be not taken away by the breast that once fed, provided with sustenance.

Le panier be not the death bed for innocence.
Why does the artist loathe her masterpiece?The very seed of her
existence...
Strangled by the chord.
Maman...pourquoi tu me detestes?


(Old poem,written for an English class in school.The teacher gave me 14/15,lol...hmpp)