Deep in the shrouding mists of time
I search for your smiling face.
Mother, tell me,
where have you gone
and why did you leave no trace?

Who will now hold my trembling hand
in the dark of the dawning night;
the thunder;
the rumble of terror on high
and the flash of unholy light?

Who will now hold my weary head
above fierce and raging waters;
the flood;
the surging push
of Satans sorrowful slaughter?

Who will now wake me up
from the dream of a dead-end day;
the nightmare;
keep the claws beneath my bed
at bay and safely away?

Who will warm my tiny hands
when the chill wind saps my soul;
the winter;
a cold and driving rain
that takes a terrible toll? 

Deep in the swirling twists and turns
I crave your tender embrace.
Mother, tell me, 
why did you go;
and should I take up the chase?

Who will now reassure me
that the lights will always shine;
the warming sun;
a shelter of love
and a warmth from where it began?

Who will now shield my innocent eyes
from the horrors and hate that’s begun;
the terrible wars;
the lifeless clause
at the end of a smoking gun? 

Who can I now turn to
when the tremors are tearing me down,
oh, Mother,
who will now laugh at me
when I try to play the clown?

Sweet Mother, 
why do my tear stained eyes
see only spaces left behind
and will I ever, again, 
look upon your eyes, 
so warm and kind?

Oh Mummy,
why did you leave me,
so lost and so alone.

And why, now, 
does my heart just howl
at the end of a silent phone?


Written by Darren Scanlon, 14th February 2020.
©2020 Darren Scanlon. All rights reserved.

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