She didn’t know when the tears began to flow, each more painful than the last,
Thick and aching as if they carried all the hidden sorrow of her heart,
Her lips began to tremble and the tears didn’t seem to stop,
Her marble shield was shattering as if someone was ripping it apart.
Her hand now clutched her chest as if they could stop her frail heart from ripping,
as if they could stop the blinding pain as relentless as the sleet, the rain,
“Mumma”, she said into the depthless night,
that word of virtue now foreign on her tongue - it pained her to utter for it was laced with so much pain.
“Mumma” she said again my voice aching and feeble like the hands clutching her chest,
Somewhere deep inside burrowed under iron, metal and marble aplenty was a little girl screaming for her mother,
She wants her mother back she wants her mother now,
she’d sell her soul, her horse and her tiara if meant she’d feel her wrath once more,
her loving arms wrapped around her small form.
“I want my mumma back” her lips uttered into the immortal night,
the words whispered to be heard in some other world - for she didn’t hear in this one any longer,
because in this ancient darkness as her polished granite fell apart only she could see the blood,
for to all the world she did not bleed.
“I want it to end” she whispered in the night when no one heard “I want her back” she said.
It had been 56 days plagued with an endless numbness,
but kindness wasn’t the virtue was it,
so when she broke she felt so much - all that she had held at bay.
A sinner she was she had no doubt,
but she had no thought of possibility that this might be her atonement.
Well they’ve taken her heart from her,
her ashes have sunk to the depth long before,
no there is nothing human in her but for the air she breathe and the sad tenancy it provides,
there is nothing human left in the depths of that onyx heart of hers.
The wind blew away her light,
“face my wrath since you created this monster you face today” she said, venom dripping with every sound,
when you took away her anchor, her hope, her salvation - all that made her mortal,
When you ripped her mother from her arms and watched by as she kissed her cold brow one final time before the flames raged on.
For you shall burn now. It is your chance.
For you shall repent now. It is your turn.