Silver Guilt

Silver guilt, silver guilt
My birth was not a festival,
No ceremonies were held,
No priests gathered, I was not anointed,
But the firey palms of my mother were overwhelmed,
They were traintracks across which my youth spent many days cradled,
Hopsital,
I was not praised, I was not awarded medals,
I was not declared anything pretentious nor given any titles,
I was not thought of as a savior,
I was not a king, nor a prince,
I desired nothing, I desired breath,
I didn't know what breath was,
I still don't know why I breathe,
And I still don't know what breath is,

Silver guilt, silver guilt,
9 to 5 for what?
To return to a quiet family,
A chore-ridden wife,

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poem by Huf Hale
Added by Poetry Lover
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