Wildes Writing

Tim Wildes

What could be more sacred than the bond of elder to child?

The trust towards one’s parent:

love and admiration.

Naught there be truly a force greater.

Never be it more threatening than, to betray this sanctity.

This parental condition is fragile.

To harm one’s child, whether on a plane physical or mental,

whether it be intentional or not,

it does not matter.

How do you tell your embodied affection,

You made a mistake; they are your precious thing

that

you have failed.

You are imperfect.

The collective good you’ve done will always be sullied;

an impression has been made,

now an imperfect layer;

never to leave the basin.

Will they always regard you:

a harbinger of trauma?

Of hatred?

A slip up is always inevitable.

Is a revelation of personhood, of humanity,

worth the risk?

Of failure:

permanent.

Of redemption:

unconcise;

vague by nature of our animalistic selves.

Is your vanity worth it?