On a silent, irridescent, cobweb morning
I laid my indigo baby in a
cradle of crystal, her wrap was pure love,
intractable and true, like her beauty.
Be under no illusion, she was born
from an illicit assignation, but to
a world where forgiveness was forbidden.
I was labelled loose, wild, irrational
but my life had always been impervious to hope,
and happiness incomprehensible.
Unable to speak, or break our silence,
I held her hand as I breathed my goodbyes
and wished for her a life more illustrious.
When she had been taken I could breathe no more;
for I was suffocating slowly under
lumps of hardstone, which became lodged in my heart
with an inextricable, forever kind of pain.
in a locked-in, forever kind of silence.