DRAGONFLY'S MOTHER
Amarantha Françoise Dyuaaxchs
My innocence, naïvetée, and hope were exorbitantly guaranteed.
The golden dramas of a thousand horded titanic tall tales,
I daydreamed from within my mind, along my consciousness's trails
Into the reality of my surroundings, adroitly gleaming bright,
Running from sordid prison and death, as from a plague in the night.
My ego's impulses lordly stood erect, looked out at the land, and winked
At my id, juggling thoughts, taking census, asking questions like a sphinx;
"Are you so eager to abandon that which is constant, what you know,
To join the routes of invasion, to pack belongings, emotions, and go?
Are you so emphatically warped that you demolish dissected peace
To be domestic, laborer, to dodge recrimination and bribes of a golden fleece?
Does vindictiveness and recrimination but send you from here to firetraps,
But lure you from war to war, inducing terrors from these poor saps?
And does your peasants blood so regret pyre and mourning pall
That you gather heritage's documents, scarlet rivulets, sunshine, and all?
Does the incessant bedlam steal your stony countenance from home,
Broodingly indifferent to the acusation that once got you stoned?"
I neutrally bow to my head, judge my limitations, and grimly, grudgingly guess.
I take my doubts, feel my hopes, turn my toes, and firmly answer, "Yes."
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