MY GIFT WOULD BE THAT NOT CHILD WOULD GROW UP WITHOUT A MAMA
Emtiness from a tragic loss creates a void.
Deep within that cannot be filled.
Tormenting pain laps at unhealed wounds.
For somewhere in the night.
a sleepless child cries out "Mama".
Black and white dreams haunt out souls with her presence
It is realy her spirit that comes t us as we sleep.
Our is it just our imagination.
And that we are troubled by her abscence.
Glistening tears streak down pale cheeks,
the twinkle in our eyes has gone,
our smiles have dissapeared.
The wailing of our broken hearts,
The shreiking of our shattering souls
Will never be silenced.
The ache will always remain with us
Hidden deep inside
For the rest of our lives.
She is just a voice in the wind.
An angel in the skies.
Now her spirit is free to float through the clouds.