|
From the time of waddling woe
with my first steps I did go.
Down the path of life.
As
others had, I did not know,
the mysteries to unfold of a life
till now untold.
If my passion I did not find,
of this person left behind,
of a small tormented child.
Unwanted and passed around
as a discarded thing.
The
mystery which binds me still,
is of a mother who would choose a
lover over her child.
From the sun that circles
around me,
in the shadows he will find me, this
demond in my view. The one who
would torment me so.
Through
the gully, through the snow,
this small waddling child did grow.
To a beauty of grace and poise.
With no help
from the demon who,
shall remain nameless all the same.
But who is a step father just the same.
|
