Sometime before you were alive,
the mother of the woman you will grow to love is kneeling over an empty plot of land in a burning cemetery etching text into the dirt,
laughing,
laughing to the sky:
*I carry with me the sins of my mother,
To my daughter I give my own.
To my daugther my burning blood, this divine fire,
The charity, the greed, the cruel indifference my life has known.
To my daughter these things as they came from my mother to me.
To my daughter the echoe of my own sin,
To my daughter my own depravity.
To my daugther, Trial by Fire,
Clarity of purpose and strength through this Trial granted to thee
Because only through this Trial were these things granted to me.
Life to my daughter I will give
So a good life my daughter might choose to live.
Life to my daughter
because life to me,
because life to me,
because life to me.
The blood I give to my daughter because the blood my mother gave to me.
My blood to my daughter,
Thee,
Because mine own blood my mother gave to me.
