So you speak of sons and lovers?
The Oedipus complex,
boy falls in love with mother.
Yet then in a bird’s-eye way
the view from my window shows
a boy whose heart I know.
His radiant smile,
all knowing tender touch
I love so much.
Like his father.
Did Freud have it right?
About sexuality, personality?
I know only that D.H. Lawrence portrayed classically
the borders of insanity.
Individuality, paradoxically is tied up with family.
Our values and kin permeate our skins
through to our hearts.
Like acid on old wounds,
until the white flame of love erodes.
Expressions of innocence have ho dissidents.
But doubt and fear when the end seems near.
Eradicated, until in temperate times a new hope grows
like dynamite, rebirth, unearthed always aglow.