Date Published: May 06, 2024
Time Published: 7:48 AM
Category: Poetry
Subject: Atypical Family
Times as such I spend in my Mother's cave,
In them as I know how love prevails
In it, as I feel how it suffocates,
In this, such a mob did my Mother make.
Kneel in her, as the blood bath scatters,
When to heed is a sin—such those compels a brother,
The man in which pride is the center—evermore
In him, I witnessed such karma to the core.
Father is the figure of a matchstick in love.
He devotes, evokes! He is the sin in a whim
A chatter in the ton, he feeds the alleys of dim
Father is the figure of our nightmares—to see him is too grim.
Our altar, to whom we devote!
When we cover in this shame of our author's oath,
When we bathe in this pride of our Mother's hope,
And I weep insanely in such a thread we hold.
IMAGE SOURCE:
Cope, C.W. (1874). Taming the shrew: The meat was well, if you were so contented. Bonhams. https://www.bonhams.com/auction/25377/lot/5/charles-west-cope-british
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