Silent Pain, Screaming
When I was a young girl my older sister died,
I watched it all ... frozen by mother's side,
as the blood-snow froze,
the strange thing is I never cried,
not a breath, not a word.
Inside my little girl soul something broke tomb-like,
in quietude ... I was quite ghost-like,
silent as a stone,
locked within a mute wordless strike,
from happy girl to a shadow.
Stabbed with death's dagger and the wound is still bleeding,
oh, the agony ... never receding,
my soul ever bruised,
tormented grief sadly feeding,
my soul to this day pierced.
I grew up a child in anguished woebegone pain,
enduring sorrow ... falls on me like rain,
I will miss her ever,
and I will always have this stain,
of a death on my birthday.
At night I can still hear my mother's wailing scream,
a moan, a groan, a howling ... it did seem,
and within I shrieked,
I still hear mother in a dream,
and I wake and call out.
______________________
November 17, 2022
Poetry/Rhyme/Silent Pain, Screaming
Copyright Protected, ID 11-1502-844-17
All Rights Reserved, 2022, Constance La France
Written for the Standardcontest, Pick-A-Title, Vol. 33
sponsor, Edward Ibeh, Judged 12/15/2022
First Place
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