You’re in a firestorm. Heart pummelled, battered. Wrung, shattered.
Child, grandchild, loved one, lamb. From your life ‘untimely ripped’.
Her bubbling laugh is silenced. Her innocent eyes are shuttered.
She’ll not now see the summer fields of promise.
While suited men with stony looks, sign and seal the status quo.
And feign condolence, sit on hands, and cling to power with wolfish bent.
The night is long, the way is hard – yet promise rests
Of wrapped up hearts, and dried up tears, the splintered vase restored.
While hearts of stone will yet be shattered. Beaten, broken, brought to book.