Seed: The Martyrdom of Saint Thomas
I cannot bring children into this world.
The good can’t be bothered yet the bad can.
Love rotted sterile, usurped, become dry dust.
As the last fragile cell wall ruptured,
another septic dream bubble burst.
More black than white,
a population more dead than alive.
Sick, how can I kill that which does not live?
The darkness enveloping
my tender memories.
All friends turned cunts.
Breathing difficult - wet,
once beautiful colours
now jarring on the eyes,
lid heavy.
Babies fingers once formed silently - beautiful
in the dark, now claws.
She didn’t die with dignity.
god
the true enemy
takes responsibility
for no-ne.
never did.
As the last red embers in the fire
die, turn black, then grey, then disappear,
you have no reflection
to fear.
The war is lost,
Your children are dead.
even if you didn’t have children
Siege: The Martyrdom of Saint Peter