Vehement despise
of a gender's con;
victorious claim
of a mother's life.

The chant of a ******
echoes and flies;
of a holy's con,
a behemoth of a sin.

Then a cowardly raven,
its wings fly up high;
tumultuously, slowly
its downfall takes place.

Its beak stings and goes
through a mother's skull;
her children don't cry
but parade and admire.

In the pits of desire
the children's grief lies;
of a whoreridden father
and a mother who groped.

Learn to fly, never did
for their wings feathers hadn't;
in fact, grown up still haven't
and parents they haven't.

Their cores turn to pulp
and their nerves to black clots;
of sensations they were,
of a dull, bereft life.