I who am owned by Your Mother and Father,

Live with the knowledge

Of the terrible thing done to You.

I shall not call it "wrong" for it is not up to us,

Who are but foam on the Gods’ wave,

To call it by any name, wrong or right.

I live with the pain I sense in You

And I live with the pain I sense in Them.

Both cut worse than any knife,

And I can only hope

That as long as the knife hurts me

It may dip into You by that much less.

This is maybe the only thing I can offer You,

That is not a mockery, a travesty of respect:

My pain for a moment of relief from Your agony;

My rage for a moment of peace for You.

(Artwork by J. Roesch.)