The Shift

A child once born, cradled by shadows,
Not by arms, but echoes of sorrows.
Years stretched long, their touch a phantom,
Eyes seeking warmth in a house so random.

A mother there, yet never near,
Her gaze was cold, her love unclear.
The child grew silent, the world grew loud,
A heart wrapped tight in a weathered shroud.

And then, like dawn, she began to change,
Her voice grew soft, her love less strange.
Her hands now reached for the hands she’d missed,
Her lips formed words of love once dismissed.

But the child, grown, a fortress built,
Layered high with years of guilt.
“Why now?” the heart silently cried,
“Where were you when my soul first died?”

The mother wept, her heart unspoken,
A lifetime’s worth of bonds lay broken.
But time, relentless, grants no return,
For scars still throb, and memories burn.

Yet in the ashes, something stirred,
A fragile hope, a whispered word.
Love, though late, still holds its flame,
Though trust may waver, and wounds remain.

So child and mother, bound by pain,
Try to rebuild what the years had slain.
A journey fraught, both loss and gain,
For love reborn is never in vain.