Poetry & Fiction

The Fault of the Son

http://www.flickr.com/photos/47803993@N08/4751546973/in/photostream/By Anonymous

There is a secret whispering alone in the dark,
Mother, you haven’t spoken since the day at the park.
Mother, don’t do this, I know you’re disappointed
When you found in the evening your son wasn’t sainted
It isn’t just blood that binds us both together
Mother, this world can’t hold the meaning of forever

Mother, remember when we used to agree on the weather
When it would rain, we would be wrong in the wrong together
Mother, I saw it, the sun on the other side of the city
Mother, I beat them, the drugs sold on the street for some pity
It’s here now, the storm that had never been settled
It may be the season for the heart to be battered

Mother, I’m sorry, I didn’t know where to go
Mother, forgive me, I should’ve waited to know
But I’m back here,  the home that I thought was prison
You painted the cell but the secrets you’ve still kept hidden
But Mother, you’ve taught me it’s always the fault of the son
I would’ve spat you an argument, but there are none

Mother, convince me, that the Lord is the greatest of potters
Like you told me the bitter syrup was always for the better
Mother, don’t worry, I prayed to the Lord for forgiveness
Mother, don’t worry,  God cures the greatest of illness
Mother, you’ve held me for all of the passing years
Mother, let go now, I’ve learned how to hold on and bear
It’s my turn now, to cradle all of your fears
Now I know how, to wipe away all of your tears

Mother, I’m sorry, I still haven’t believed your words
Mother, forget it, we know life is slightly absurd
Mother, you’re worried for the coming future and then,
Mother, plans are better left to the Lord and His Pen
Mother, you’re wondering why I keep looking down in defeat
Mother, I’ll find it, the paradise hidden beneath your feet.


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