The Fifth Commandment

I am tired
of fathers and mothers
and sorrows.

I'll take the barren night,
the thirsty, endless ocean,
the red stars exploding;

their dead pieces flung
apart like tiny, burning

But then, I lie
even to myself. See
how reluctantly light

leaves its body
to the dark or

wolves release
the screaming hare
to inevitable silence.

Everyone must be born
somewhere: in a small cup,
a narrow tunnel, a blood-filled sky.

What or who we belong to,
from where the cord was scratched
and chewed away, the heart despite

its origons, indecisive
daily, shifts its weight.

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