MOTHER'S DAY LAMENT
Mother's Day Lament by Stark R.M.
I was breaking "God's 10 commandments" before I knew what they were.
Now they amuse me, as I lie and covet and steal.
I have broken all but number 6 and that only remains intact through random chance.
7 was the most fun.
2 and 4 are the most frequently broken.
And the funniest, by far, is good old number 5.
Honor?
I have none to give and my days are long enough, why drag it out?
So, today, as I visit "Mom", with mykids in tow, old 5 takes another beating.
I came of age in a time of warriors.
Cold, distant, deadly warriors.
I learned the facts of death long before I learned the "facts of life".
The extinction of humanity was a few button pushes away,
but we were told that learning to crouch in fear might prolong the inevitable.
Radiation sickness would get you but it was better than turning to vapor, right?
And I remember the silo doors in the cow pastures, housing not grain but the rain of death.
Oh, mighty overlords, infinite wisdom your god has bestowed!
Such a clever plan to destroy his creation.
Doomsday dead hand planet buster multiple independent re-entry vehicle
mobile launcher lurking submarine
hardened bunker minuteman railroad backfire bomber
a-bomb, h-bomb, n-bomb - the language of a love so fierce
it would blot out the sun if challenged.
This is the love with which I was raised.
Shriek in pain, strike in anger, lash out at those that you can.
Weapons employed, punishment swift, affection only for effect.
Affective disorder?
You betcha!
Still, I loved my parents and that would make it all better.
Love, not of death but life.
Love of soft furry kittens and TV cartoons and popsicle treats.
Love such as children radiate.
Love despite the locked doors and windows nailed shut.
Love despite the spite and neglect.
Love in vain.
No comfort for tears.
No reward for fears.
"Kid, you need to grow a thicker skin."
and "Hit him back."
A thicker skin I grew.
Anger built inside and burst forth in violent clashes.
Love of fire. Love of pain.
Love of the anguish of others became the new balm.
That skin grew thicker and thicker.
Torture of creatures great and small was the game shared with fellow delinquents.
We bullied the bullied and bullies alike.
Dirt clods were a favorite prank projectile sent against temples and ears.
Sad souls alike we clung together in vicious games.
In our hearts we coveted the boys who had the "real moms"
and, feelings unspoken, repressed,
we bound those boys to trees to laugh at them as their Mothers called
them home to love and a warm embrace.
The tears from the "lucky boys" warmed our cold, thick skin, as though
sunshine through clouds.
Ah, misery loves its company!
We taunted those boys with the voice's of their mothers
and the distant promise that everything would be alright.
"She's calling you! Break the chain and run to 'Mommmmmy'!"
You gotta get tougher, kid!
We are never going to let you go, forget about 'Mommy'."
I look back through the mist to the past
and still I get a chuckle at the cruelty.
Still my heart is hard, my skin is thick.
Still the missiles wait for the moment to kill us all.
I love my family as best as I can,
but I doubt it is good enough.
I have been too hardened too long to ever return to innocence.
I love my offspring and spouse
but still retain the ability to explode and kill everything in reach, including myself.
It is sad, yes?
Such is life,
as I know it, in these American States.
- Stark R.M. (May 8, 2005)
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© SpiritCaller.net, 2005
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