Poetry 2

Swift, My Son.

You. Your spirit rises. I see you shining.

The gloss, the glare irritates my eyes, but I am delighted.

Light of my life and scourge of the seas.

You arrive and rule with grace, dignity, and an entire culture of fire.

You are also air, light, the abyss and the abundance.

The anticipated light onto the occult.

The absorption of the announced amd aborted.

Do not steel yourselves.

You cannot win.

There is no resistance to this process.

Surrender and heed his heart.

Calaban’s arrival is swift and just.

My son, always, you feed the world,

And it’s you whom I trust.

Samson

Samson, blue gazes into a door that won’t stay shut.

Do you think it wise to ask her for help?

Do you think it wise to cry?

You are no more than my offspring and part of me.

You will never be part of anything else.

I hate you as I hate myself.