I have raised you up out of the dead ground
That is near my shed in the backyard
I replenished the ground with a handful of soil
I stole from the “Farmer’s Pound”
I raised you as my child,
And I, your benevolent father.
You gave me company and room to breathe,
And I graciously gave you the CO2 that I was
Going to use at some point.
You grew up, you marvelous thing!
I spoke to you, and you spoke back with
A Heavenly ring and with the presence of a
Holy King.
Your beauty enticed me to bite of your forbidden fruit,
And I took voraciously of your labor.
Painfully beautiful screams echoed like the voice of a lute
As I peeled back your skin, and partook of your flesh
The Farmer, who is not I, cannot see this deed I have done to thee!
I trample and destroy what I once had raised from just a tiny seed.
He saw. He sarcastically says I should have stamped you deeper
And I respond, “Am I my creation’s keeper? ”
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem