It was never meant to be this way;
The gifted opportunity
For strength in numbers
As we all came to terms
With our shared loss.
Taken from us, yet still with us
Her life switched from living,
To dying and dying.
Even now the frame lives
But the being is diminished.

Lucid glimpses give way
To common confusion.
The mind once full of
Endearing trivia, now scrapes away
At fading memories which
Portray a life now viewed
Through a lens refracted.
Existing or living? The question
Perpetually put through the
Slow, steady changes which
Mark the narrowing
Of days and hours until
The clock will tick its last,
And what remains will not be
The mum we knew, and can
No longer know, leaving us
To remain; not she the remnants
But we, to decide whether
To piece together what has been
Broken.

Scandalised by the loss,
The scandal spilled over;
Commoditised care and rationed
Time meagrely offered
To placate the demons of
Guilt – commanding that
“All must play the game”,
And all are bound by the
Rules which quantify love,
Like a money lender
Working the exchange rates
To maximise their gain and
Minimise their loss.

“Shame on you” if you
Will not play; will not join
The chorus of pious pity,
Where blind consensus
Determines the standard of
Truth against which
All will be measured.
All must earn their right
To be that which can come
Only through birthright.
Usurpers bear their teeth
Unashamedly; snarling at
Any who approach the gate
Without the recognition
Of who the top dog is.

Judge and jury in joint refrain,
“Fair is foul, and foul is fair!”
But in the courtroom,
None escape the long shadow
Which casts at the late hour
Of day as evening approaches,
Hurrying the sunset which will
Leave us all in darkness.
Hidden shame provides
Temporarily relief until
The day when everything
Will be brought into
The light of The Light.

In our hour of exposure
Will we see our finest
Or recoil at our foulest?
Will we see our gain
Measured in silver pieces,
Or our loss in the broken
Pieces of a family torn
By self-interest and
Callous disregard for
Open wounds and
Vulnerable feelings?
Will sick satisfaction of
Battles won give way to
A pyrrhic victory of the war,
Or will the trenches be
Dug deeper, the sludge get
Heavier underfoot?

Forsaken.
Forgotten.
Betrayed.
Stolen.

(For D&M)