Many Melodies, Dear Daughter

a mother, father, son, and daughter, comfortable before the beginning of the world,
they lived as normal, farming and mad, sometimes touched by the ocean-pearled
the son enjoyed the clay of rust down by the beach, conjured friends from dust,
jaguars, giraffes, a gaggle of pterodactyls, built from fingers-crust,
the mother spent time in the mines, she preferred her own company, alone,
absent, ended, sewn to earth, and cast beside a wayward throne,
the father cut the trees, he built the house, the road, the half, the crags,
chastised the son for lack in ferocity, while the daughter learned to fight,
just so she call them all back home while they worked the hours rags.
Might
the daughter found an old ruin, messed with totems and rings of rot,
brought a curse down on the land taut with soil, mud, and clot,
in response to the toil of forces, in response to the touch of dark,
a hurricane struck their home and tore everything apart
the father turned immediately, given to his rage, and hope of superiority,
he tried to cut the daughter’s head from behind, horridly, glaringly, prematurely
The daughter found a hold in the creek by the house, she managed to fight
and find a response with a branch, a clean cut through the night,
his head rolled to the side, and called the son to action, an immune reaction,
so she stunned his brutal, ugly charge, and impaled him far through the neck–
the son fell faster than the father, and the mother was still missing,
leaving the daughter frantic and fallen, a wreck who was untwisting
in the mud, turned cold by the stream, unraveled with the hissing,
Night
The snow fell fast and in heaps, the crystals drew water on three bodies,
while the daughter sat at her kitchen table and contemplated, while a tsunami
took her family away until the red was fully wiped and returned life to the forest,
the curse lifted, the blood paid in full, with a little extra on the side,
and, finally, when the daughter was nourished, quenched, and wiped to clean,
she wouldn’t say she was free, but through the muck, the riches, the blue-green,
There was belief, that the daughter would learn to

Live



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