I bore you, from mud, in sorrow
As I did many children before.
Was I the best mother? No;
I can be cruel—
Vicious, even—
But mostly
Indifferent.

And from my cruelty,
From suffering and pain…
How could you have turned out
Any other way?

For as bad as I’ve been,
As uncaring or ruthless,
Nothing
Compares to your own callous negligence, your
Brutal apathy toward
Everything
And everyone.

All I do, you do better.
You eat better. You dream better.
You build bigger. You fly farther.
And you kill
Best of all.

So you built. You dreamt.
You flew. You killed.
From grass to ash, from ash to dust
Took all you could,
Came back for more.

I should have taught you better, child:
Your precious stories—
So grand, so proud—
Can live forever
Only in your mind.

Your tender flesh and bone decay;
Your towers crumble down from cloud to stone;
Your songs, your dreams, your fairytales—all fade away;
But still I won’t forget you, dear:
Your tainted legacy,
Too dense to rot—
Is here to stay.