Benighted

I was born in the house of death,
I fought for my existence as my mother died.
The midwife rescued me. She claimed me
as salvage from the wreck.

I struggled to breathe the impoverished air,
desperate to survive. Spectral beings
gathered round my cradle as I slept.
She who tended me, who helped me live,
kept all their toxic curses at bay.

Though I hardly thrived, I did adapt
to the bitter milk extracted from her
shrivelled breast. My innocence
protected me. The scorpion's sting,
the incurable bite of fate, was wrapped
in an implacable future. The seeds
of destiny began to germinate.

I was born of the devil's spawn,
she told me, the man who planted me
had robbed my helpless mother of life.
As I slumbered though the hours
of stagnant heat, dreams of forgetfulness
blurred the shapes of his designs.