Since When ...?

" Since when, do we burn our own? "

This small voice continued for so long
to be
Misunderstood but never gone
Something whispering
In the papers of how she passed on…

My family.
The darkest secrets gone wrong.

Inside a shed marked " … The Servant of God …"
A ripped cover near a good Mother’s head
The book of Mary Teresa looking very sad

I touched the pages of this darken book
Brushing through dust to have a look
and then she fell…
" … the daughter I never had …"
became armour through hell

because You see… when my mother died
a hidden story became two who lied
and as years passed while I shouldn’t know
observation took notice like a blade, coming slow

" … we met in the office and were just good friends …"
there sweetly she entered in the sounds of amen!
a pestilence

as Our father, in mother’s last hour, had a hand.
and no silence… can ever be again

I don’t come from you.
And it’s been awaken.

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