Mother; a destructive, black tornado;
Whirling her devilish, soul-eating words
Around the room. Intelligent Plato
Could very well have called out vulture birds
To come eat our abused minds full of hate,
And yet she would spit fire at his head.
She waits for redemption, but it’s too late.
Why should I forgive? I’m going to bed.
She is family, but is far away,
So far she can’t here me crying inside.
Our connection is poisoned with decay.
I am fed up. I feel like I have died.
But she IS still mother, despite her faults,
So maybe one day forgiveness will vault.