Heritage

Blossoms of violet bruise,

we knew no concept

of respect;

cordoned in filial dues,

shield wall to blow,
undue rage at lost or

minimal paypacket.

Sawn up chairs, for heat,

filed down glass bottles;

beakers for water, milk dried up

in the next one born, another charge,

another fear to guard.

Now our legs bend,

not with weight,  age,

responsibility or break.

We starved for more

than affection

and it shows.