To all the mothers of the world.
Who hold the world's love within, unstained.
And bear life's burdens just to live it on.
Seldom thanked. Most oft' ignored.
Taken for granted. She gives even more.
But seldom do her loved ones seem to notice.
Her nurturance. Her healing hands.
The constancy of loving plans.
Thwarted by the ones who might have
made it all worthwhile.
Her smile withered as her pain increased.
Her inborn joy decreased by all their lies.
Her wisdom tossed aside as if
it never really mattered. Thrown away
and shattered, like her heart.
Battered by the endless blows of blame
from those she called her family.
Unable to indulge their secrecy.
They thought she'd only played a role.
Refusing to believe that she had
given them her very soul.
As if in offering.
Trusting that it would be given back.
The knife sliced deep.
She couldn't breathe.
Her heart had been attacked -
too many times.
Her beauty bled into the service
of their latest vice.
Their torture slow, exquisitely precise.
They did the deed.
She died alone in utter misery.
Her family standing round her grave,
still clinging to the greed within their grief...

? Michaelette ?

Copyright© 2005 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
Take me home . . .