Wounded
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I'm wounded to my core,
bereft and filled with grief.
My mother has died and
my pain's beyond belief.
The sun no longer shines
as storm clouds clot the skies.
And a river of tears
flows from my crying eyes.
I want to be angry,
though there's no one to blame.
And yet, Mom has passed on,
and life won't be the same.
A beautiful woman;
I won't forget her face.
For in my heart of hearts,
she holds an honored place.
I feel an emptiness;
part of me is missing.
And it's easy to cry,
merely reminiscing.
(Quatrain)
9/22/2017
Copyright © Emile Pinet | Year Posted 2017
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