Son, I die!

Son, I die!
By Brian Looney

A withered father lies in most musty remnants.
Emits clouded, wheezing, death-laden emissions.
Clinging gift wrap skin is ripped by
that over-jealous child: Injury.
Patched, parched lips crack wide
and painfully transmit:

"One day your bonds will break, son,
And unshackled horror will await.

One day you'll taste the world, son,
Freed from their poisoned bait.

You must brace your mind, son,
The assault is underway.

Never stagger, never flag, son,
Scratch until the end.

I'm telling you this now, son,
Because my beating heart is ebbing.

It's time to say goodbye, son,
Clasp my claw in hand.

Seize your life from them, son,
And fight for identity!"

The emphatic voice sways into oblivion
Is followed by hollow chested whurrs.

Defeated, it fades into uncanny silence,
Echoes eerily in the son's nostalgic dream.

He wakes up into freezing wetness.
Drenched in liquid revelation.

Will he retch forth revelation?