Mater (Pater)

Oh! Madame,
What a spontaneous awakening.
What sudden squirt illuminates
The darkness of your soul?
And what! Madame,
Is it for
The sake of our child,
For his best?
Or is it
For virtue?
Freedom? Madame.
Nay!
A release
From abducted responsibility.
A broken link of your powerful chain,
A slit at the protective gates of a jail?
Your wings? Madame,
When have you ever opened them
To the white light of truth.
Whose? are these golden corns…
Are they from glory?
Or is it only silver dust
Despatched from his ransom?
When have you ever,
Since then,
Warmed your heart by the sun ?
Or let your soul breath
High,
Free from heaviness,
Remorse,
Or shame?
No! Madame,
Yet!
Neither you,
Nor I
But Ludwig,
Is free.
There are no holidays in hell!


Jean-Raoul de Marcenac
2000-05-13