Broken Glass inside my heart

Piesces sharp, slice me apart

and still life lingers

and no one sees

the serrated holes inside of me

where the cold wind moans

it`s empty echo makes me lost

memory of love like a ghost,

haunting me,

making me beg for peace,

furrows fill my brow ,

remembering all we went through,

lasting soveneirs of  greivous love lost with you ..

Margaret

Shanty Irish is what she was

never washed her floors or windows

wiped a spot

to watch the children

was always there with a hug and wisdom

piled objects all around her

until grown children could not find her

removed from all the clutter and memories,

 because of her health

Now she must find herself