SONS OF MOTHERS

Set the trap
In the taste
In the tastes.

They’ll eat out of your hand
And see you
And seek you
In everything, in every woman, in every land.

Make them enemies of their father
They’ll see him
They’ll fight him
They’ll hate him in every man
Even in themselves.

Crown their hearts
With their father’s good image
They’ll revere him, uphold him, replicate him
In themselves, their sons too, their world, the world.

Power is subtle
When subtly broken
Or subtly woken.

CHE CHIDI CHUKWUMERIJE.

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