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The Air Was Cold
It was sunny and summer-like outside that Saturday, with a slight breeze.
The trees sang a song of warmth.
But inside the house no sun was shining.
The walls were no longer illuminated with light.
The air was cold, and bitter, like a widow's corpse.
That was the day a mother'c cry silenced the song of trees,
As sherrifs came and stole her only face of hope
(A crime committed some would say)
"Rewarding" a father with a burden he was not worthy to carry.
The air was cold, and bitter like a widow's corpse....
It is sunny and summer-like outside today, with a slight breeze,
And the trees are singing a song of warmth as I stand over this forgotten grave.
But I've grown cold and bitter, like my mother's corpse.
I can still see her eyes filled with tears
As she stand "strong" watching me carry my bags...No, my life away from her.
And I know now what I did not know then;
Why the eyes of judgement laid upon her.
I know how a father's anger was motivation for vengeance.
Why the townspeople talked.
"A scarlet letter is unfit to care for children", they claimed.
I watched my mother struggle;
Watched her lose her identity, the collapse of her stability, my stability.
I watched her drink away tha pain of rejection
And I watched her regret filled eyes as I left her, left her alone.
But the air has grown cold and bitter, and its time for me to go....