The Hands of My Mother
by JCaraballo
When my mother’s hands trembled,
the steel within my soul fractured
into irreparable shards.
I was absent,
feeling estranged from the light
that gently welcomed me into this world,
a fragile leaf slowly withering
in barren, silent earth,
without a breeze to carry it upward.
A shadow that drags itself
through the fading light,
fleeing the night
that consumes all,
with sharp teeth
of unyielding remorse
that bite ceaselessly.
I am pain without forgiveness,
an echo of what I ought to have been.
But I was not.
Oct 15, 2025
Oct 15, 2025 at 11:43 PM UTC
The Hands of My Mother
by JCaraballo
When my mother’s hands trembled,
the steel within my soul fractured
into irreparable shards.
I was absent,
feeling estranged from the light
that gently welcomed me into this world,
a fragile leaf slowly withering
in barren, silent earth,
without a breeze to carry it upward.
A shadow that drags itself
through the fading light,
fleeing the night
that consumes all,
with sharp teeth
of unyielding remorse
that bite ceaselessly.
I am pain without forgiveness,
an echo of what I ought to have been.
But I was not.