Enduring
abysmal thoughts, her baby laid to rest, no comfort the grave,
Plagued
with punishing sensations, of the little infant, she could not save.
The
treasured child departed, confusion welling, within her empty vessel,
Desperately,
reimagining the past, set in vivid detail, now a daily wrestle.
In
perpetual misery, struck with anxiety, her loving heart emptied out.
Silently
suffering, suspended in her sorrow, living the everlasting drought,
Struggling
to dismiss, the damaging thoughts, of despair, and depression,
Ardently
wishing, her baby back, haunting delusions, taunting obsession.
Fleeting
memories, suddenly flooding, to the front, her attention drifting,
Cradle
songs, softly sung, now never again, her mood painfully shifting.
Sorely
missing, the infant voice, the crying, and contented sounds made,
Little
brown eyes, goggling at the world, with inquisitive attention paid.
Desolate
mum, lost in soft pastel tones, that created the cozy contrast,
The
baby’s room, soft toys, set in the colourful décor, a vision of the past.
The
empty cradle gone, where on many long nights, her visual was kept,
Now
serving reminder, of the heartache, and sorrow, that she has wept.
Soul
consuming pain, eating at her core, wrenching her emotions apart.
Trembling,
within the chaos, struggling to repair, the badly broken heart,
An
eerie breeze, frequently blowing down, where all the stolen babies lie,
Innocent
lost spirits, gravely waiting therein, where miserable mothers cry.
Written By: Alan.Clark@WW1POET (Oct 2023)
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