Speak not of the love that resides deep in mother’s heart.
Lest you speak out of turn, and invite hell that resides in my father’s eyes.
The crackling thunder reverberated throughout the house,
Then silence enveloped the entire household and no-one dared breathe.
They say charity begins at home, a domicile where I had my first encounter with violence.
A juxtaposition of charity begins at home, steeped in violence, a vision of family love.
Growing up in that house, life was a kaleidoscope of love, violent outbursts and abuse,
A family affair that stole my mother’s happiness, amidst a flurry of punches.
Family is everything, he will change, after all I am to blame for all this, it is not his fault.
Walking on the roof of hell, admiring the beautiful flowers, she stops and smiles,
As she is transported back to a happier time, when life was simpler and made sense.
She is a million pieces of shattered glass, but to me her child, she is a beautiful mosaic.
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