Sorely my love
How sorely we stretch
For things unattainable,
The chance to put hands
On father's wounded neck.
Our bodies so naturally
Carving the weight
And speaking with symbols
Our child-like fate.
Now the unborn
Have something to live for,
While all of the living
Contract and debate.
Our colorful silence
Is weaving the air
With father's bright violence
And mother's long hair
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