Saturday, March 25, 2006

Untitled

Her roaring sobs
they fill the air.
Some broken skin;
a broken mind.
She cannot part,
the British Law
is on my side,
lest I strike her
baring my best
swinging a stick
a stick that's such
that in it's width
it bests my thumb

Upon herself
she calls her fate.
God first made man
Adam's birth-right
gives me the flag
and to His voice
she must obey.

Her cries are not
justified when
she clamors that:
I'm in the wrong.
Misguided wails,
why can't she see?
I've disowned them;
her tears wash out
but God can see
the truth: they are
not my children.