Her Tragedies Grow Like Weeds in the Rain

She had three different children
with three different men,
all
of the so-called "fathers"
failed her
and her children.

She survived
on her own
working, paying the bills, caring for the kids,
barely getting by,
but
still getting by.

Then,
one night
her son died in a car accident.
The most awful moment
of her life.

She wept and wept
until her light blue night gown
was soaked
with tears
and the sun rose up
forgetting to dry them.

The years moved on,
somehow.

She received a settlement
to make up for her tragic loss,
with the money
she got her own house,
something she thought she'd never
possess,
but there she was
moving in furniture and planting roses.

The house
had only cost her
a son...
Was his death worth it?
In her mind
never.

The house's walls
built up her depression,
boiled her blood,
and strangled her spirit.

Suicide
was attempted
again and again,
but she couldn't bring herself
to lose her other two children.
She had to carry on
with life
and support them
and be strong.

She always had
to be strong.

Depression still lingered,
money dwindled,
bills piled to the ceiling,
she didn't work much,
she couldn't.

She lost the house,
her dream,
her life,
her child.

She's moving again
like she has
many, many times before.
Depression will no doubt
settle
right in
with her,
put holes in the roof,
clog the toilet,
and break her heater
on the coldest of winter nights.

Will there ever
be an end?
Will she ever
persevere?
Will she still
be strong?
Will she
survive?
Or will her tragedies
continue to bloom
and laugh
in the rain?

Where's God?

Where's the blackness?
The great dark sky
plunging us
into
an endless misery.

Where's the fire?
The enormous flame
burning our souls
into
ashes.

Where's the plague?
The incurable disease
eating us alive,
devouring our loved ones.

Where's the hate?
The world war
killing all,
filling mass graves.

Where's the end?
Anticipation is murderous.

Slow...

We've waited centuries,
we don't deserve
this boundless torment.

The suspense needs to cease,
humanity
has run its course.

Where's God?

We need our Father.

How Could I Forget?

He is slipping
away...

With each passing day
his memory
burrows
deep
past his grave
into the forgotten.

His voice
once loud and unmistakable,
now a whisper
fading.

His touch
once warm and embracing,
now is cold,
no longer felt.

His heart
once open and beating,
now a muscle,
dead and empty.

His life
once wild and unpredictable,
now long gone,
buried beneath
the wasted days,
the lonely nights,
the broken dreams.

The thought of forgetting
is unbearable,
but it's happening
with ease.

My ears are going deaf,
my hands are losing grip,
my heart can no longer stand
to be blue,
my life is somehow complete
without you.

How can I do this
to you?

How could I forget
you?

Will our spirits
ever meet
again?