The Rose
For a grieving mother, pain goes the extra mile, it wilts her soul and destroys her smile.
A burden so heavy as she carries that cross, no one can imagine the reality of her loss
Her existence is tormented by the struggles through life, the pain so unbearable, it cuts her like a knife
The demon of pain imprisons her mind, joy, and laughter she will rarely find.
God, what is the purpose? I do not understand, I thought you were our king and savior, the one that made the plans
The pain is evil and never goes away, it makes a mother think
"why in the hell do I have to stay?"
Years have gone by and most everything’s the same, that rose once so beautiful is now destroyed by her pain, but...
She continues to fight her demons until the day God calls her home,
With wilted petals on the ground as the rose remains alone.
By Karen Powell. ©
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