Sitting by the musty wooden door, the old gone eyes shone,
Mundanely, she awaited the buzz of her long silenced phone.
As she waited, her thoughts drifted to a reminiscence divine,
To the days when she would lovingly cook dinners that were fine.
Her lap that was now empty, held toddlers curious two,
Her home that once resonated with laughter was now sad and blue.
The hands that bathed them and washed their linen soiled,
Held nothing but the signs of a life completely despoiled.
The sleepless nights she spent nursing them back to health,
Were repaid in full by their abandonment in absolute stealth.
The stories she wove to teach them the meaning of life,
Meant nothing and they left at the hint of a minor strife.
Her children jilted her in exchange for monetary worldly affairs,
Little did they know their success was the blessing of her prayers.
The grey haired Mother watched the sunset alone,
Her tears flowed at her fate that lay unknown.
Having given nothing but love and tender care,
Being unloved and uncherished she could not bear.
Another day had passed and she was still forgotten,
YOU ARE READING
Alation
PoetryHighest Ranking in Poetry: #7 "The elegy of silence, The wailing of fate, The panache of death, The din of rage. Will quieten itself, Soon enough, someday."
