Random Acts of Silence



 

My mother has characterized my birth
highly inauspicious
the lunar antithesis of some anticipated
cataclysmic event.

She has bluntly recounted over time
my forth-coming's secondary nature
void of fore-thought, reason
preparation or rhyme.

My modest realm disdains those systems
enviously circling about my head.
My throne extinct of thunderous extrusions
rests quietly in place of known dread.

Impacted by her guided missives
pervasive, static, devolved dreams
I don't perceive myself
abandoned in place.

I've learned that our celestial roles
eternally designed as mother and child
are remarkably complex;
uncertainty expressed as deflection and grace.

We have grown to share a vision
reflecting when need arises
resigned to revolve
ebb and embrace.