Malignant cells residing in her chest.
It’s bad, they say, as if we can’t tell,
In the trash is where her hair dwells.
Her body is scarred, as she undressed,
Her naked soul exposed because of her breast.
Home is not home as we are residing in hell,
For who would want to say to their mother, farewell.
Some say that the victim is the only one stressed,
But all of us, her family, are depressed.
Our “home” is filled with gloom
For God is silent on His throne.
The hope in our souls is known;
She will be made new, as in the womb.
We can feel it in our bones;
We know we are not alone.