Mother Returning Home
You heard my cry,
Too late.
And now you’ve returned home,
To an empty house.
The sound of pain and tears
Resonate.
Where once laughter and joy echoed
But now there’s only hate.
The wind whistles its sorrowful tune,
The ragged curtains whipping
Against your legs
Accusing, accusing you of this ruin.
The carpets are red.
The wallpaper torn.
Dust lingers and floorboards creep
As you step in the house that was once our own.
Your hollow cries echo
Through the hallways.
They’re met only by the deafening silence.
Tell me: what truly echoes in the hallways of your heart?
In memories only,
May joy be real.
You cling to a stuffed toy’s severed head,
hum the dirge of the dead.
You sing the song of those cast aside,
Of those used and long forgotten,
those broken pieces on the chess board
Gone because you did not cherish their value.
While you live to laugh and cry
Others would laugh and cry just to live.
Quiet now. There’s no more begging
to those who will never forgive.
You heard my cry,
Too late.
And now you’ve returned home,
To an empty house.
Copyright © Rebecca Huxley | Year Posted 2017
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