I saw this child I love,
Suffering through a torture
This family shares to various degrees,
Most of us lived through it together,
But this last child is living alone,
As what once was a woman,
Has morphed,
Into a monster,
Overtaken by her own demons.
No one seemed to understand,
The loss at stake,
In that girl,
Valuing the ease of a short-term status quo,
Over long term efforts,
Without guarantee,
My rage had no borders
Even in the face of the other survivors,
They understand, know better.
A story in passing,
Doused the fire,
As it lit for my eyes
The gaping wounds I had not seen,
Still oozing and aching.
Even the purest injured Saint cannot reenter the battle for mercy and hope.
SickyBeat 