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So now you’re gone there is no resolution
no reckoning of all the hurt you gave.
How does that square with Christian absolution?
It seems your God will smile and blithely save
all those who wave the bible, speak the phrases,
who sing the hymns and keep up church attendance
with pious faces, prayerful airs and graces
and never mind the lack of true repentance.
In all these years you never once confessed
your narcissistic need for full attention,
nor was your cool hypocrisy redressed;
inspiring sympathy your sole intention.
There’s dark behind how your persona seemed.
How can you claim that you have been redeemed?
You never once faced up to causing pain;
refused to see the lasting damage done,
the struggle that I had to keep Me sane
whilst played against the Golden Child, your son.
You never let your darker side be seen
by those who only saw your public face.
Seeking all the pity you could glean,
you claimed to live within a state of grace.
But well you played the part of injured soul,
triangulating fiercely to the end.
Your Scapegoat daughter never will be whole;
the broken bits you leave behind won’t mend.
You would not face what cannot now be said;
The pain I’ll carry still when you’re long dead.
© Elfstone 14/11/15
Should I not grieve?
Should I not grieve now that you’re gone away
or weep a little showing how I mourn
the death of one whose timely passing may
in dripping tears more showily be borne?
Should I not feel a wrenching in my heart
at losing she who bore me long ago?
Is all that’s left, to play the daughter’s part,
a rigid duty to keep up the show?
Should I not suffer loss with all the others
who claim the pain of losing such a one;
all those who say you were the best of mothers,
ignoring all the hurt and harm you’ve done?
You would not know what cannot now be said;
The pain’s still carried, even though you’re dead.