The Mother I Never Knew

If the veil were to draw,
across her fading light,
my tears wouldn't fall for the woman
who stood in the daylight.

No, I'd mourn the phantom limb,
the hug that never was,
the whispered lullabies, lost in air,
the warmth of her maternal cause.

I would mourn the pathways not taken,
the 'what-ifs' like swirling dust,
the mother I conjured in dreams,
betrayed by this unmet trust.

How can I grieve a presence
that was never truly there?
A ghost in the tapestry of life,
a constant, gnawing dare.

The silence between us, a chasm deep,
draws no tremor from my soul,
a chilling stillness, a stark relief,
making me strangely whole.

The ache isn't for her absence,
but for the void she leaves behind,
a blueprint of motherhood, unfulfilled,
a treasure I could never find.

So don't expect the usual sorrow,
the rending of cloth, the mournful cry,
I'll mourn the mother I never knew,
beneath a speculative sky.