When is enough enough?

When the child in my heart is crying for its bastard birth?

When the mother I never had spits in my face for the last time (What last, and when?)?

When the sacred cult of happiness retreats at last from view?

While the spinning dark shrouds my vision, sight is useless.

When gifting is bound by heavy chains of unhappy experience,

Is the gifting true?

Floundering in the ignorance found in a stack of heavy books, the length of my stride again shortens.

We all are really going backwards, then forwards, and sometimes upside down.

Without a compass who’s to say where’s up, or down?

Who needs a way to choose when you have a fated path.

Free will. Of course the gift is not costless –

To us, to the giver, to the child we have tortured in the dungeon of our minds,

Branding our charge’s sweet and innocent frame with piercing thoughts of murder and shame.

Who are we to judge ourselves so harshly? Yet well deserved is the verdict.

Death in word, phrase, and meaning.