Woe

Abide in me, abide in me
oh thoughts of tranquil gladness
when bleached with heritage
my javexed blood
doth pump its way
through guilt and shame
and madness.

What relative can be so pure
Their sins are white as snow
and yet can bring me consequence
when little yet I know
of guilt and shame
and madness?
'Tis so, 'tis so!

Judge not lest you return to least
the dust from where you started
when on your neck
you find the noose
of those who have departed
from woe, from woe
your woe.

(c)--Christina Cowling