This was a very laborious process for me, as I believe most of my future ekphrastic creations will end up being. I don’t do well with structure or being confined within an exercise. That said, it’s good practice to feel uncomfortable when it comes to any artistic endeavor. This was written in one sitting, with minimal (spelling) edits.

i know a lady whose own
children violate the very body
that birthed them.

they take and take and take and take
and take from her, lining their own pockets
with her treasures; stealing her inner-most beauty
in order to make their own lives
more convenient.

i know a lady whose own
children wreak havoc on her
piece of mind.

they stay up late at night
building monuments to their own successes,
congregate in her most precious sanctuaries,
and destroy the serenity she works so hard
to maintain.

i know a lady whose own
children are a hazard
to her health.

their transgressions have melted
her once cool demeanor and rendered
her gentle tears into savage hurricanes
that attempts to beat her loved ones
into compassion.

i know a lady whose own
children will be the
death of her.

they take for granted that
she will always “be,” that long after they’ve
moved on to another realm, she will
rebuild and recover from the pain
they’ve inflicted.

we each know a lady who is
the mother that we
have collectively betrayed.

we have manufactured green to try and mask
the colour we’ve stolen from her, ignored her failing
health for too long, and let our hubris convince
us that we can discover
a cure.

this lady knows us
as the only children she
will ever have.

and despite this maternal connection, we have caused
too much turmoil within her heart. her love, like life,
cannot exist unconditionally. if we do not break the cycle,
she will be forced to swallow us in order to end
her pain.

-Les Mots Manquants

[Art Credit: sleepwalking air between gaps by, Netdog]