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.