For mom…
So this is a quick poem I tossed together as I’m trying to process my legal proceedings and how I navigate more than me in this world.
For My Mother
(A Reflection by Gregory Ernest Middleton)
And for my mother, who perhaps is asking herself the very same thing —
Who am I?
Gregory Ernest Middleton.
And I would simply say:
Who are you?
Who are we,
yet descended from oh so long ago,
from a tiny single cell,
all of life did grow.
And you know.
And I know.
And I grew inside that hope of love
that cancer would not deny.
And I hug you now,
and wrap you up in my arms,
in just my words you read right now…
but when I visit,
we will smile and laugh and delight at our sights,
of knowing we did something right.
All of us.
All the family that descended from that moment
the universe sparked life inside the Earth on which we all live.
And breathe.
And cry in pain
as others suffer oh so far away —
except in thoughts inside my head
that fill me up with so much dread
I shudder and cry
or see others go insane in the membranes
of the institutions we serve
for masters’ cruel games
of nothing but abuse
and the game of blame,
of their hidden shame they hide in sight
of us who serve it.
Until —
She’s come.
Alive.
And not just me.
Never died,
in all of us —
some of us beaten so badly
we lost sight of love and life everlasting…
that delicious chalice,
the fountain of youth we seek desperately
in plastic surgery
that makes them look unnatural…
Selection.
A reflection
of sins of men
who made you think
you’re not enough.
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To me…
the one who lies awake
in the cells from which all life comes…
Unity.
Community.
A family unit with common ancestry —
fancy that,
in a world so full of division.
Wonder why?
And who it serves?
And always will —
until at last you know.
You listen.
You look into the water
and reflect in its stillness —
or is it crashing upon it after a violent storm,
and it’s all a blur?
It’s a blur, isn’t it?
Reality is a tricky thing.
Which one you choose to live…
Regardless —
There, I love you still.
But this pain is growing intense,
and they’ve pushed so far —
she’s gonna blow.
And you know…
perhaps west coast.
Who knows what they know
in the stories of those
whose land we stole —
and stories buried with them too…
Warnings.
Ignored too long.
Love can be a painful song.
But love is love.
Just ask daddy —
or the systems that kill you for money.
Love.
Takes many forms
in the sins of men
who lost sight of me,
of us…
those who know…
We are one.
And we are LOVE.
Who wants a sip from this cup?
She’s tasty. And so is he.
