May 23rd 2005

Mother Dearest

I've touched the blade.
You didn't see; you never see.
You who was born and bred
In the Land of the Robots –
That land where the mind silences the heart,
Where the eye sees only the surface,
Where the status quo is left unquestioned
Not because of fear, but because of oblivion.
You never saw.
You never even though to look.
You're blind. So blind.
Blind to tears, to heart, to soul
To the very God you claim to know.

You never listened, never asked;
My silence feeds itself at last.
Shadows stalk your every step
And only you can see them –
Delusions of that curse you try
Ignorantly to force on me.

You took me from that land,
The metal Land of Robots,
Here to a place you did not know.
You reared me here, always thinking,
I would become what you had dreamed of being.
But because you did not know this place,
You miscalculated.
You did not know about those questions,
Asked of me by strangers,
That would drive me out of sublime conform,
To what I was meant to be.

Wherever I was born,
Whatever your plans were on my natal day,
I am not a pawn,
Set for a mindless race, empty fight
For money, status – false security.
I am not a subject, servant, slave
To mere figures on a piece of paper.

Why should I be?
Was it not man who made paper?
Have I not the power to burn it, tear it, soil it, spit upon it?
Why should I struggled to win its favour?
Why should I bow down to the wax seal? The blue ribbon? The black type?

Do my best – yes, that I'll do;
I have no qualm at all with that.
But I'll be no robot, no pawn, no slave.
I'll ask again and again
What the purpose of each task is
And what the purpose of the objective is
And so on,
Until there are no questions left to me,
Or no answers left to the world.
And if the world should have the last word,
I shall conform;
If it does not,
I shall rebel.

Purpose is my goal in life.
Purpose, love and joy.
You never offered me those things.
I don't think you even ever sought them out.