Close your fatal wings around me, Once more. Close your bladed arms around me, Once more, For I know you will do so To demand forgiveness. My face is kissed With lips soaked in venom. My childlike face is the maturity of a turnip, Still a seed. Her eyes see the next pain to deal Upon the core of a young man's ideal, To escape, becomes my choice, To shout, has been my voice. The worship Of fate, Of hate, In all dwelling consequence To reveal her, in the awe. What a mother, Or what a woman Who has little to believe In everything she grieves.