A Mother's Bitterness
by Colleen Murphy
O cruel, villianous Death
How you use your servants to do your bidding.
Use them so you can just sit and watch,
As they make me and my childrens' lives miserable!
Time, with his cold, clammy hands,
Reaches out to grasp my childrens' lives,
Seemingly thrusting them forward,
Taking them and their cheerfulness away from me.
Age, with her sharp nails,
As she sinks them into my babes' soul,
Transforming their once pure vessels
Into depraved adults.
O haughty, scheming Death,
How you think yourself so smart in the ways of sadness and grief,
By using your brothers, Poverty and Greed,
You steal away any chance,
Any opportunity for my children to lead happy lives.
O sadistic, merciless Death,
How you use your sisters, Pain and Longsuffering,
Bringing me to my knees, day after day,
Picking, digging, planting until I can move no more.
O heartless, cruel Death,
Why must you torment my helpless babes?
Why not aim your painful plots at me?
Do not punish them for my mistakes!
O how I wish, oh intangible Death,
That I could take your killing scythe,
And plunge it into your dark, cold void.
Where, perhaps, a heart once was.
by Colleen Murphy
O cruel, villianous Death
How you use your servants to do your bidding.
Use them so you can just sit and watch,
As they make me and my childrens' lives miserable!
Time, with his cold, clammy hands,
Reaches out to grasp my childrens' lives,
Seemingly thrusting them forward,
Taking them and their cheerfulness away from me.
Age, with her sharp nails,
As she sinks them into my babes' soul,
Transforming their once pure vessels
Into depraved adults.
O haughty, scheming Death,
How you think yourself so smart in the ways of sadness and grief,
By using your brothers, Poverty and Greed,
You steal away any chance,
Any opportunity for my children to lead happy lives.
O sadistic, merciless Death,
How you use your sisters, Pain and Longsuffering,
Bringing me to my knees, day after day,
Picking, digging, planting until I can move no more.
O heartless, cruel Death,
Why must you torment my helpless babes?
Why not aim your painful plots at me?
Do not punish them for my mistakes!
O how I wish, oh intangible Death,
That I could take your killing scythe,
And plunge it into your dark, cold void.
Where, perhaps, a heart once was.
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