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Mother and Son

She shouted out, ‘I’m going to hell.’

the end was near, that they knew too well.

Contorted and tortured as she fought for breath;

Sons, granddaughters and sister witnessed her death.

Her last few years took her independence;

her resentment and anger-it was relentless.

Confined to her chair; often alone-

the carers were kind, but it wasn’t home.

Spiritual strongholds couldn’t be broken;

as she blamed her children, with words unspoken

We were not prepared for her last will and testament ;

naming only one son-two kids not mentioned.

The shock of it all was hard to take in,

as they sat and asked, ‘What have we done?

To be blotted out, like we never existed.’

He looked so smug, he had everything listed.

No memento, no message from their only mother;

the chasm made wider between sister and brother.

The anger faded, bewilderment set in-

why on earth would she do such a thing?

This black sheep was her golden child,

and he reaped the benefits all of his life.

He stole anything not nailed down;

giros, money and a half sovereign crown.

They grew up together, in the same home;

that’s where the seeds of deception were sown.

Yet she never faltered in her preference for him;

after two years of mourning, from me she’s forgiven

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