Mother,
Will you forgive me for biting into the forbidden fruit of your love that sits between my ribcage ?  
Like your forgive the sinners, the sick and the lost who dared to break it at my young age ?

Mother,
When all is said and all is done,
Will you wipe my tears till there’s none ? 
Will all of our memories turn into golden dust, 
Forever etched in the painting of our trust ? 

Mother, 
If love is the antidote for all that we’ve been,
Will you caress and cradle my torn up skin,
Till stars and crescent moons disappear, 
Leaving place to a canvas free of fear ? 

Mother, 
When all is well and all is right, 
Will you tell me when to give up the fight ? 
Will our love, born form a scream and a whisper, 
Let me stay your sweet daughter ? 

Mother,
I dream of angels, but they take your shape,  
A crown of light resting like snow on your head.  
And I pray, in whispered reverence,  
That I may carry even a fragment of your resilience. 

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A little bit about the author :

Name : Istara

Pronouns : they/them

Age : 19

Location : France

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