A child alone so much afraid
of parental lies in serenade
to clone my soul to a perfect echo
of the beast of man;
You bid me e'er to "Believe me lass"
in solemn sweetness like marmalade,
yet love abided in treachery
when you conceived, only to devour me.
Am I truly the fruit of life to you
or your spawn of selfish pleasure in hue;
and should I honor your abuse of procreative pow'r
in a hedonistic and deceitful hour,
when the pleasure you sought selfishly gave birth to me?
A pity that you did ne'er understand
that all are fall'n gods in a deceiver's hand
who requires offspring biological
to perpetrate his spirit diabolical.
But your molten image I refuse to be
e'er I compound your blind idolatry
in requesting e'er that I worship thee
and offering, too, to worship me;
in which I perceived a treach'rous lie
and the error in why you multiply
through abuses of your godly pow'rs
in your hedonistic hours;
bearing children in blind sacrifice
beguiled by the lies of the cockatrice.
Rolf Kaestel
July 1999 |