Mothers Do Not Ever Really Heal
The loss of a Child
I travel daily, twix the poles,
between the shadow and the light
between the loss I know today,
and days when all was right
I journey back to memories
and this day I have at hand
I share my life with yesterday
and a place called shadowland.
I do not choose the hour
when pilgrimage unfolds
the sudden trips to yesterday
or dreams I can not hold
I can not find the promises
needed to weave my plan
My fabric has lost its color
for the pale of shadowland
My soul retreats in safety
between the shadow and the light
from the mounting pain of day
and too many sleepless nights
the questions swirl, they rise and fall
and answers are like sand
there is neither wake nor sleep
in the place called shadowland
I am but a traveler
twix the poles that cradle loss
a mother torn from child
and dreams nailed to a cross
tears are the only answer
to questions that have no why
"Where are you God are you here
and do you hear my cry?"
He lifts me from confusion
and the ever sifting sand
"I come each day, to bring you home
from the place called shadowland."
