My Tormenting Ache
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When I was just a little girl my sister died suddenly,
she was a reckless, energetic, wild girl and ran into the street;
a truck hit her- me and my mother stood on the curb screaming,
that day my mother and I were hearts and souls entwined forever.
Our bond was so strong, few people could understand,
she was not only my Mom, but my best friend, my anchor in life;
we would sit talking in whispers- about life, about things,
when she got sick, I tried to do everything to help, to ease her pain.
But nothing could save her and in her last sigh on earth,
she looked at me and said, "I love you" and was gone, I was shattered;
the years passed and twice now, I have been near death myself,
and each time, I hear my mother calling my name but I am pulled back.
I run towards her voice- running towards a place I cannot go,
within me there is a throbbing pain to see my mother again;
I would give up everything I have to release this aching misery,
oh wishful, wishing to see her face again and hear her voice.
But my only way would be my own death, oh forbidden,
she would hate that- so I write my aching grief in poetry;
I lay out my pain in dripping words, my anguish, my agony,
and so I suffer- no one understands this wish that is out of reach.
at the moment . . . .
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August 2, 2017
Narrative/My Tormenting Ache
Copyright Protected, ID 92683
Copyright © Constance La France | Year Posted 2017
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