Sunday, 12 November 2017

Child in dark

In his lotus position, hooves on thighs,
leathery palms up to catch
an appreciation of all he cannot see —
he contemplates sunlight the way
a flower contemplates rain.

Closed up, folded within,
heart as detached as the granite,
his only companion. His howls
never reach the lightened air,
bounce back again and again.

The moment he cannot remember
yet will never forget —
when his mother handed him
across to Daedalus to hide away
in the endless cavern.

Sometimes he hears a voice,
or feels a gentle hand,
assumes he will go mad—
believes if he rends enough bodies
he will find his mother’s love.

The substantial child, hidden in the dark
so the populace will not see
a guise of the god, hunts for death —
the kiss to the cheek

his mother never bequeathed.

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