Hapless Beginnings... Poem by Mark Heathcote

What price does this core of knowledge eat?
Out of canker, does a worm retreat?
He who rises to gaze at the moon in safety,
or she who stagnates, never - full or empty.

They're your brother and sister or stepchild.
Their corruption is pure innocence exiled.
They learn their habits in blind amazement:
They're your mother and father, barking grievant.

We're all hapless in choosing our beginnings
we even drink to forget our inner and outer ripples
but to make amend, they'll mature like golden apples
stored, reeking of cinnamon in the shadows ebbing.

Pungent alcohol tranquillizes their furthest reaching-
until a rustling harvest wind sings—calls them longing.