19 April 2012
I live life as a sentence for a crime, from once, when I lived, upon a time. I stare out at what was, and realise what is, and wonder if I can be.
I think back to memories, a time when I was not. I see in my future a picture, and a face from the past, that my father forgot.
Through my blood is carried a penance, that shall flow through the veins of my seed. An hereditary, invisible wound, that will take many lifetimes to bleed.
My mother was the bearer of an accursed child, whose innocence was tainted, by an heirloom that's stagnant and wild.
What mercy is left for tomorrow, when yesterday shows no remorse. Why does the child abandon compassion, while submitting completely to force?
I am a forgotten son, to a fatherless father, who was a son to a fatherless child.
Heirloom • Opuss № I