Mom-Mom
thin, l-o-n-g hands-Versatility
useless, though,
just bones, covered with soft skin.
Paleness everywhere; except those two fingers
(Stained with the Sanguine Scars of tobacco).
the ditches dug into her elbows,
Eroded by cruel Insulin.
shaking, Constant quivering
like beholding the Face of her Lord.
feeling the pangs of the Mortal body
in the Face of Eternity.
Clinging on harshly.
severly fighting each exhalation of Breath.
Thin from lack of mortal's bread
she Lives on cigarettes and
that Transubstantiated Bread
young Age reflected in her eyes;
yet sapped of all her energy.
She lets slip a little each time
each time she looses a sigh,
a sigh empty as her strength.
All that's Left of her invisible frame
is her Soft footfalls.
Or the thump
of her hitting the carpet
because she wasn't using her cane.
She's too proud for it at times.
of course she doesn't use it
she's been used by everyone
scorned by closest confidant, he left.
He beckons her, But she Knows
She still has What Matters.
every-other-day she summons enough strength, to
Lift Her Trembling Chin.
-Neill Torna
