all we consist of
resides in our progeny
a creation from two bloodlines
our biology dictating
the continuation of self
a birthing watered down
or a carbon copy ensues
the hair, the eyes
the frame and more
resemblance gives credence
to which clan it belongs
parents, the ones who care
give even more of themselves
sometimes, to the brink of thresholds
from where there is no return
all for the sake of the child
spawn filled to capacity
with the best of who the creators and mentors are
remedying the worst in themselves
while simultaneously cleansing
their seed of poor judgment
every ounce of care given
is preparation
for the next generation
before again passing
the cycle of life torch
some might say ad nauseam
I Write Her 