I wonder if you ever think
About your girls and how they live;
Their laughs, their cries, the missing links,
Or if they could ever forgive.
Delightful delusions breed not even a blink,
while Guilt is quenched with each yearly missive.
“Happy Birthday,” you’ll say,
“I still love you so much.”
The sting of betrayal it’ll surely allay.
Who needs a real life mother to touch?
to talk, to ask, to cry, to play;
a guide, a mentor, a forbearer nonesuch.
A laugh like yours or a familiar hand
stay the perfect relic of a life you abscond.
Did everything go the way of quicksand?
Have you known a single, solitary second of despond?
Is it comfortable in your very own dreamland?
I bet, of the view, you’ve grown quite fond.
I don’t know what to say; I don’t know where to go next.
I’m tired, I’m resentful, silent & sore.
I’m aces, I’m better, loved & unvexed.
Perhaps fortune will find you a path to restore
the girls you’ve squandered, leaving all perplexed.