Mother

Mother. You ask why I dont speak. Why I wont say something to you. Why I am this way now.
Mother. There is an ocean of pain and hurt between us. Any words I have, give up half way through my mind, refusing to become sentences. If they do, refuse to make the effort to become sound.
Or if they manage to push through they falter at my lips, turning instead into a sigh.
Or they drown somewhere in the ocean of lost love, on their way to you. Who has enough heart to guide them through to shore?
Weary, torn and spent from hurling themselves at the walls of your stone cold heart. Trying desperately to make it through them. Yet barred always. Words that have grown old, sitting at the steps of the iron castle that is your heart. Words that have begged and pleaded to be heard. Words, that reached the sky and fell down as lightning. Words that got trapped in the rage of their impotency. Words which tornadoed into a storm that ravaged my body and turned my hair grey. Words, who are now limbless, from the long war they waged for your kindness. Words which fell one by one, like fatigued, starving soldiers. Words which had all the blood sapped out of them. Words, that frenzied into flames and burst. Words that are now long gone, defeated.

Words, unheard, not unsaid, weigh me down. They have a memory of their own. And try as I might there is only silence now.

Mother. Is a festering wound in my heart.
Mother. Is all the empty spaces and hurting crevices where love should have been.
Mother. Is a haunting absence, that insists on making itself known.
Mother. Is a sigh that never made it to Gods door.
Mother. Is cruelty.
Mother. Is abandon.
Mother. Is the wailing of grief, at its own coffin.
Mother. Why doesnt your love triumph tradition?